


The Battle of the Lutefisk

by machine_dove, Sproings



Series: Wilton's Bakery 'verse [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Disability, Family, Fluff, It Gets Better, Kisses for Cookies, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst, Promise, Warning: Loki, so many cupcakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6457705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machine_dove/pseuds/machine_dove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproings/pseuds/Sproings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's always had a soft spot for strays</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't strictly linear - it starts off right after the end of Wilton's Bakery, then weaves through the two previous stories in this 'verse, but it shouldn't be too hard to follow.

In some ways, Pepper was the first.  At least, she was the first of Clint’s adopted family to get her own official cupcake flavor on the menu. Something which Maria, who’d been there for Clint longer than anyone else, was quick to comment on.  

Clint still wasn’t sure how Maria managed to talk her way onto the ambulance after his accident, but he’s grateful for it.  Without Maria - and her special brand of terrifying competence and her stubborn tenacity - Clint wasn’t sure where he’d be right now.  He definitely wouldn’t have the bakery. Probably wouldn’t have bothered with PT without her constant harassment. Definitely wouldn’t have met Natasha or Wade.  So when Maria walked in and narrowed her eyes at  _ The Pepper _ on the menu board, Clint knew he’d be doing damage control even before she said anything.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“I’ll be here,” Maria answered with a smile. But Clint wasn’t foolish enough to miss the sharp edge of threat hidden beneath her smile.

Clint didn’t need Wade’s coffee to wake him up the next morning. He still drank it - no way was he going to turn down Wade’s coffee - but Clint was alert instantly without it. He worked his way through five different varieties before he finally hit on what he thought was the perfect cupcake for Maria.  Dark chocolate cake, liberally dosed with whiskey and a filling of spiked dark chocolate ganache, topped with chocolate whiskey buttercream and a sprinkling of whiskey-infused sea salt to set off the flavors and give it that extra kick- just like Maria.

She looked doubtful when she picked the first one up off the tray, but one bite was enough to send her eyes rolling back in her head.

“This is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth,” she said through her mouthful.  “And I’m including that model I dated in college.”

“So you’re not going to murder me and then make a sculpture out of my dismembered corpse then?” Clint asked hopefully.

“Not this time.  Just keep the cupcakes coming.”

  
  


* * *

 

“I had an idea. Clint, you’re going to love it!”  Wade was almost bouncing with excitement.

“Okay, shoot.”

“We should do something special for Thor too!  He’s Norwegian, right?  So I figure we should get some lutefisk and…”

“No,” Clint cut him off.

“But-”

“Absolutely not,” Clint said.  “Haggis was one thing, and it was a horrible thing that we are never, ever repeating.  There is no way we’re bringing lutefisk into this bakery.  Ever.”

Later, when Wade wasn’t around, Clint Googled ‘lutefisk’.  **Dried cod soaked in lye.**  


Lye is the same stuff that Drain-o is made of.  

Yea, no.  Not in this bakery.  Not ever.

  
  


* * *

 

Natasha was one part older sister, one part soulmate, and one part evil hell-demon who had worked herself so deeply into Clint’s heart that he couldn't imagine life without her anymore. Clint had been toying with the idea of coming up with a custom cupcake flavor for her for almost as long as he’d thought about owning a bakery.  Not being able to use his usual flours complicated matters, but Natasha didn’t eat gluten and Clint knew better than to compromise her health in any way.  She subjected him to biweekly torture sessions when she was happy with him, and he had no desire to see what kinds of new suffering she’d choose to inflict on him if he messed up that badly.

So when they’d first planned the layout of the bakery, Clint was happy to let Wade design a second kitchen, entirely gluten free and separate from the main kitchen, complete with air filters to prevent airborne wheat flour from infiltrating the safe zone.  It wasn’t fully equipped like the main kitchen, with just a small convection oven, a single mixer, and a smaller reach-in refrigerator instead of the standard large walk-in cooler, but it was enough that they could provide one or two fresh gluten free selections a day as well as custom orders.

Phil had strongly discouraged them from buying a second fryer until they had established a larger customer base, but Wade had pouted a bit and talked about how long it’d probably been since Natasha had last had a donut, and apparently Clint had no defenses against either of these arguments. Before he even realized what was happening, Clint found himself signing off on the delivery of two fryers, one for the standard kitchen and one specifically for the gluten free kitchen as well.

When he saw the invoice, Phil had sighed deeply and rubbed the little crease between his eyebrows.  He seemed to do that a lot around them.

So Natasha’s cupcake took a bit because gluten free baking was apparently one part advanced chemistry, one part rocket science, two parts luck, and one part summoning unnamed terrors from the void.  

“Seriously, Wade, there’s no way it’s supposed to look like that.”  The batter he had mixed up looked angry. Clint hadn’t even known that batter could look angry - let alone  _ this _ angry- but he was definitely not planning on going to sleep with this stuff still in the building.  It looked like it was getting ready to climb out of the bowl and take its revenge on him, all lumpy and flat and blowing air bubbles like some sort of very angry looking loofah.

Wade peeked over his shoulder, hands moving to Clint’s hips.  “Nah, baby, that looks perfect.”

Clint looked back at him dubiously.  “It really, really doesn’t.  In fact, it looks like the opposite of perfect.  Are you sure this is a real recipe and not a ritual for demon summoning?”

Wade just laughed in response, which was less reassuring than could have been.  Seriously, was that supposed to be “you’re so silly, Clint” laughter, or “my plan is working perfectly soon it will reach fruition” laughter?

The cupcake hadn’t turned out well.  To say the least.  The first batch of cupcakes he made could’ve doubled as space-age building materials, and the next half a dozen batches or so weren’t much better.  They did, however, make excellent projectiles.  Clint and Wade both ended up with embarrassing bruises after they had a cupcake fight in the alley behind the building.  “A snowball fight, but with cupcakes,” Wade had said.  “It’ll be fun!”  And he wasn’t wrong, but it ended up feeling more like one of those snowball fights where the snowballs had been filled with rocks and chunks of ice.

Some of the experiments were less successful than others.  One recipe called for mesquite flour - mesquite, like the wood.  So sawdust, basically, but stupidly expensive artisanal sawdust, and according to the instructions they were supposed to mix the dough until it had the texture of warm mayonnaise.  

“What the fuck does warm mayonnaise even look like?  These are the weirdest instructions ever.  No Wade, don't microwave the mayonnaise. It's just a guideline, anyway."

Wade jumped up from where he had been bending down and peering into the microwave.  “Oh shit, the jar melted."

"You're cleaning that up,  I want no part in that."  Clint emphasized his point with a wave of his spoon, forgetting that it was covered in not-quite-warm-mayonnaise-looking dough, which splattered in a wide arc across the kitchen.  “And that too, because that is also your fault.”

"You just want to watch my ass wiggle."

And maybe there was some truth in that, but it wasn’t something Clint wasn’t ready to admit anywhere outside the safety of his own head.

After several weeks of trial and error, Clint finally managed to make a cupcake that he’d be willing to serve to Natasha, fluffy and moist and rich.  Feedback on the samples he handed out to anyone who stood still long enough for him to shove one at them was good too - instead of the earlier “that’s...interesting” style of responses, there was definitely more enthusiasm, and more than one “please tell me that’s going on the regular menu.”

Natasha would be the real test, though, and he was more than slightly nervous when he went to his next PT appointment with a dozen of them boxed up for her, complete with a bow on top.

“What,” she asked when he handed them to her, “are these?”

“Cupcakes!  Gluten free cupcakes, before you try to murder me again.  Red velvet with raspberry and vodka buttercream icing.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “You didn’t eat any before you came, did you?”

“Noooooo, I learned my lesson about eating before PT.  Promise.  These are just for you, and they aren’t poisoned because I know better.  Try one!”

She did, and while she didn’t react visibly, she finished the entire thing in three bites and only made Clint cry twice during his session, which was a clear sign of how happy she was.  The 'thank you' she murmured when he was on his way out the door, low enough that they could both pretend she hadn’t said anything, made him feel light enough that he didn’t even feel the ground-glass pain of his hip.  Much.

  
  


* * *

 

Clint wasn’t even sure how Wade had met Thor, but he walked into their shell of a building like seven feet of bodybuilding sunshine. Thor’s unrestrained joy at the demolition part of their renovations was something to behold.  Clint hadn’t realized they even made sledgehammers that size before, but it definitely got the job done.  He tried to lift it surreptitiously one day when Thor had gone out to get something from his truck, but he couldn’t shift the damn thing even a little bit.  Thor’s muscles probably had their own muscles.  Muscleception.

Between Thor’s energy and relentless good cheer he should’ve been irritating, but somehow Thor was impossible to hate.  Plus, Thor was great about coaching them on everything from basic carpentry to how to hang drywall so they could do most of the work themselves and save money. He even found them deals on reclaimed lumber and a used walk-in cooler from a nearby restaurant that had gone out of business, and took every setback or major change to their plans with such calm and cheery acceptance that by the end of the first week Clint was half-convinced he was in love.

“I think I love you,” he told Thor when they finally called it a day after fourteen straight hours of work.  

“I love you as well,” Thor said with a smile, “in the most brotherly of ways!  My Jane does not share willingly.”

“Yea, uh, my real brother is kind of a dick, so you’re definitely a step up.”  Shit, talking about his family was hard, but the way Wade was beaming at him made it hurt a little less.

Thor’s smile dimmed.  “I have a brother as well, but he is much changed from when we were children.  I still love him dearly, but I’m afraid I don’t always like him very much these days.”

“I love you more than Thor does,” Wade said from against Clint’s shoulder, voice slightly muffled.  Clint frowned a bit.  Wade really didn’t sound good.  They’d been hanging drywall for most of the day, and while Wade had worn long sleeves and put baby powder on his exposed skin as a barrier against the drywall dust, Clint could still see patches of skin that had grown red and inflamed.  

“Hey, let’s get you home and cleaned up, you’re not looking so good,” Clint tells Wade, concern clear in his voice.  Wade’s burned skin needed special care, and it looked like today had been a bad idea.  He was just as bad as Clint about pushing past his limits out of sheer stubbornness and paying the price for it later.  

“Go, rest up and take care of yourselves tonight, my friends,” Thor said with a smile and a hearty shoulder-clasp.  “I will bring someone to aid us in our work tomorrow.”

Wade moaned a little as they made their way upstairs to what was planned to be two apartments on the top floor.  It wasn’t technically legal for them to be living there yet, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to report them for squatting in their own building.  They had one working bathroom (although the plumbing was still questionable, something Thor promised to help with once they made more progress on the bakery), electricity (to the water heater and a single outlet), and a couple of futons on the floor. Still, it was hardly the worst place either of them had lived before.  


Wade really wasn’t looking too great, Clint thought, as they stripped off their work clothes.  The redness he’d noticed downstairs was even worse than he’d originally thought and it was spreading across Wade’s back and chest in angry red streaks and all the way down his arms.  

“Hey, go shower and get the rest of that dust off first, okay?  I don’t like the way that looks.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it feels worse than it looks,” Wade said as he made his way into the bathroom.

“It really, really doesn’t.”

When Wade came out of the bathroom, wearing only his boxers and carrying a large bottle of lotion, he didn’t look like he was feeling any better.

“It doesn’t hurt as much,” he responded when Clint voiced his concerns, “but my skin’s starting to tighten up as it dries.  Not my favorite thing ever.”  Wade’s contortions as he tried to rub the lotion on his back pulled his still-red skin even tighter and looked unbearably uncomfortable.

Clint shifted a little where he was sitting.  “Look, man, if you need some help you know I’m not going to judge you or anything.  I’ve got you.”

Wade’s head whipped around, a surprised look on his face as he held out the bottle of lotion.  “Moisturize me?” he asked hopefully.

Clint just snorted as he took the bottle, warming up the lotion in his hands before he started rubbing it into Wade’s broad shoulders.  His skin was pebbled from the scars, but it was smoother than it looked, and he found himself fascinated by the play of strong muscle moving with him as he moved his hands.

Clint started applying a bit more pressure, working his thumbs into the knots nestled deep around Wade’s shoulder blades, eliciting a groan that was...not something Clint was going to think about right now.  And if he kept going, smoothing more lotion into Wade’s arms and chest, privately enjoying the way he seemed to melt under his hands, who was to know?

(He let himself think about it in the shower later, after Wade had gone all soft and warm and more relaxed than Clint had ever seen him before, the sharp awareness that Wade seemed to carry with him everywhere softened into the kind of sleep that only happens when you feel safe and secure.  The blanket Clint had tucked around Wade was soft -- but not as soft as Wade’s skin had felt afterwards.  The grip Clint used on himself was firm and rough, as if in contrast.)

 

* * *

Clint was not expecting the someone Thor had promised to help them to be a sullen, greasy, one-armed bum who looked like he hadn’t bathed in at least a week.  

“Bucky!” Wade called out when he saw him walk in.  “Hey man, thanks for the help, I owe you like, twenty.  Come meet my partner, Clint!”

“Heard a lot about you from Wade,” he said as he put his (one, single, only) hand out to shake.

“Arm,” Clint responded before his mental goalie could save him.  Aww, mouth, no.

He got a flat look in response.  “Hey, I’m a handy guy to have around,” Bucky said, his tone flat.

Clint tried, he really did, but he only managed to hold his straight face for a second before barking out a surprised laugh against his better judgment.

Bucky’s bright grin in response completely transformed his face, and Clint felt like he’d just met a kindred spirit.  

“You’re an asshole,” Clint said, with a grin.  “You’re a total asshole.”

“That I am,” Bucky said in response, “but at least you know when I do magic tricks that I’ve got nothing up my sleeve.”

As it turned out, Bucky really was a handy guy to have around, and he managed to do more with one hand than Clint would have imagined.  He single-handedly (Clint was hilarious, shut up) managed all the painting and tile-work, and was surprisingly good at being at the right place at the right time to brace a board or help out in some other way.  

Clint got into the habit of bringing down a batch of muffins for Thor and Bucky each morning.  He was going to be running an actual goddamn bakery, he might as well make an effort to get used to it. Just simple flavors, cinnamon streusel, banana walnut, maple pumpkin.  They were all enthusiastically received, usually with a snarky remark from Barnes and a huge slap on the shoulder from Thor.

So Clint didn’t think anything of it when Wade slid down the pole with a box tucked under one arm, although it was a pretty impressive maneuver, and really fucking cool that they had their own fireman’s pole, in their own soon-to-be bakery.

Wade bounced over to Thor and Bucky, who were discussing tile patterns for the bakery floor with Clint, and presented them with the box.  

Bucky grinned when he flipped open the lid.  “Cookies!  Did you make these?”

“Yea, I was trying out flavors,” Wade said with a bright smile.  “They’re ginger spice with a rum glaze.”

Clint froze in the middle of trying to figure out a herringbone design.

Ginger spice with rum glaze sounded delicious.  Like, really delicious.  He wanted to try one.  Or possibly all of them.  He wanted to eat all of them and not share and that made no goddamned sense.  They were going to be running a bakery, sharing cookies was going to be a thing.  THE thing.  The reason the bakery was going to exist.

Besides, Bucky was already reaching for a _second_ cookie, with half the first one still between his lips, and Thor was merrily biting into one while making ‘mmm’ noises.

Wade stretched out his foot and stepped on Bucky’s toe.

“Mmf?”  Bucky finished his cookie and shook his head.  “Oh, that.  No, I never agreed to that.”

Wade glared at him.

Bucky turned to Clint.  “Look, it’s none of my business, but this kissing thing Wade told me about should probably not count for cookies in your bakery.”

“I fear I do not understand this custom,” said Thor.  “Is there meant to be kissing?”

“Oh, just, kisses for cookies.  It’s -- I guess nobody does that,” said Wade, looking at his feet.

Clint nudged him.  “We do that.”

Wade’s smile was brilliant.

“It’s more of a between friends thing,” Clint told Thor.

Bucky raised an eyebrow.  “Seems like more of a between you and Wade thing.”

Clint shrugged.  

“This is an excellent practice!” said Thor.  “I will bring cookies for my Jane!  How many do you have?”

Wade peeked in the box.  “Uh, three.  I can make another batch, though.”  He scrambled for the stairs.  “One dozen cookies for kisses, coming up.  Bucky, you want a batch?”

“Got nobody to kiss,” Bucky said stoically.

“Clint?”

“I mean if you’re making them anyway.”  No way in hell was he going to turn down cookies from Wade.

Wade giggled as he raced up the stairs.

Clint turned back to the tiles he’d been playing with, but caught Bucky looking at him.  “What?”

“That guy’s been through hell.  ‘S good to see him so happy.”

“Yea.  It is.”

“Don’t fuck it up.”

“I don’t plan to?  He’s the best friend I’ve got.  Hell, if you don’t count my physical therapist, he’s pretty much the only friend I’ve got.”

“Nah.  Not the only,” Bucky said with a crooked smile.

After the apartments upstairs were finished, Clint tried offering the other one up to Bucky, even though Wade said there was no way he’d accept.

“Buck’s been through some shit, man, and he hates to feel like he owes anybody.  He’ll get off the streets when he’s ready, but I don’t think he’s there yet.”

“But it’s not like that,” Clint protested.  “He’s...he’s family now!”

Wade’s smile was small but his eyes were so warm and approving that Clint felt like he was burning from the inside.  “Yea, he is.  But he’s a stubborn fucker who doesn’t bother taking care of himself, and that’s not changing anytime soon.”

Wade was right, and Bucky categorically refused Clint and Wade’s offer of the other apartment above the bakery, but they were able to at least talk him into taking a key, and Bucky usually ended up sleeping in their spare room or on the couch downstairs at least once a week.

After the bakery opened Bucky was a frequent visitor, sometimes helping behind the counter when they were busy, and sometimes helping by clearing off the table of day-olds and taking it to one of the local shelters.  Bucky knew better than anyone else which ones needed the extra food, and he spread the word that Clint and Wade were generous with free muffins for people who really needed them.

_ The Buchanan _ was a big hit with the lunch crowd.  A warm, portable meal was something the frat kids and the office drones could all appreciate.

It was a beef and cheddar hand pie.  

“Hand pie, Wade!  Get it?  Hand pie.”

“You’re hilarious, baby!”


	2. Chapter 2

Maria introduced them to Phil, after she reviewed their business plan and pronounced it “surprisingly plausible.”

“You should absolutely, under no circumstances plan on doing your own finances,” she said.  “Lucky for you I know a guy.”

The guy she knew looked like the Platonic Ideal of accountants, placid and dull, with business cards embossed with “Coulson & Roth,” a sharp suit, and glasses.  Clint was fully prepared to be bored to death by the man until he caught a closer look at his understated silk tie and realized that his tie clip was actually a lightsaber.

Phil Coulson turned out to be terrifyingly competent, wickedly funny in a dry and quiet way, and knew stories about Maria that had her blushing redder than a tomato and left Clint and Wade breathless with laughter.

He was also extremely patient with them, something that he never said outright, but his little sighs and the slight slump of his shoulders when he saw each new batch of crumpled and sometimes illegible receipts thrown into a box or when he pointed out, yet again, that they had only managed to match the day’s sales and the amount of money they had logged for the day twice in the previous month were eloquent.

Phil also had a sweet tooth and a caffeine addiction, which was probably why he didn’t object too hard when, two months after the bakery opened for business, Clint bought a top of the line StarkTech espresso machine.  He just sighed again, rubbed the little crease between his eyes, and drank the constant string of lattes Clint kept slipping him while he worked like they were the only thing that kept his life worth living.

The uptick of early-morning sales as Clint introduced an entire line of espresso-based pastries didn’t hurt either.  The Suit, a chocolate espresso muffin with walnuts, topped with a dusting of powdered sugar, did especially well with the business crowd.

 

* * *

Tony Fucking Stark burst in one morning before dawn, the day after the new StarkTech espresso machine had been delivered.  He walked into the back like he owned the place, scoffed with disgust when he saw the pieces spread around, some of them holding the intimidatingly large manual open, and immediately started tinkering.

“This is a disgrace,” he told Clint as he gestured with the wrench he pulled out of his back pocket.  “I came here for coffee, and instead find my beautiful girl’s guts spread out everywhere.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“The manual said that first you should make sure all the parts are there.  How else are we supposed to do that?”

“Pfft, ‘manual’.  Here, give me that thermocouple.”

“Uhh . . . “

Wade slid down the pole, with a travel mug in one hand.  Clint really needed to try carrying things down the pole, it just looked so cool.

“Thermocouple,” said Tony Fucking Stark.  “Brass thingy, blue wires, five inches to your left.  Snap snap.”

There was, in fact, a brass thingy five inches from Clint’s hand.  He plucked it off the counter and gave it to Tony Fucking Stark.  Billionaire Tony Fucking Stark.  Who was standing in Clint’s bakery at four o’clock in the damn morning wielding tools, unless this was a very elaborate hallucination.

“I need coffee,” Clint announced in the general direction of the ceiling.

Wade wandered over, looking thoroughly baffled and holding out the mug.

Tony snatched it from Wade’s hand and took a sip.  “Ugh, this is shit.  No wonder you need my sweet baby here.”

“That’s Clint’s coffee, asshole,” Wade snapped, and kicked at Tony.  Clint managed to tug him back just enough that Wade’s foot barely connected with Tony’s backside.

Tony shrugged and set the mug on the counter, without even looking up from the machine.  “Fine by me.  I don’t have anything communicable.”

Wade grabbed the mug and wiped off the rim of it with his t-shirt before handing it to Clint.  He leaned sleepily against Clint’s chest and muttered in his ear, “Sorry baby.  Next time anyone tries taking your coffee, I’ll stab ‘em before they get the chance.”

“Thank you.”  Clint thought for a moment, then added, “Don’t stab people.  We’re business owners now.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

”I don’t know, it just does.”  Wade was still leaning on him, all warm and solid, and Clint was ready to drift back to sleep right there in the kitchen.  He tucked his chin against Wade’s shoulder and closed his eyes.  Damn, Wade was comfy.

“Hey.  Cuddlebugs.  Pressure gauge.  C’mon.”

Clint blinked and raised his head.  “Whassat?”

Tony had his hand out, wiggling his fingers expectantly.  “It looks like a gauge, and it has the word ‘pressure’ on it.”

Wade picked up the gauge and tossed it lightly in his hand, glaring at Tony.  

Clint caught it before Wade could chuck it at Tony’s head and handed it over.  He squeezed Wade for a second and said, “We’ve got muffins and shit to bake.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Wade, still curled against Clint.  “It this just normal?  Does fucking Daddy Warbucks just show up when you have a bakery?”

“How would I know?  Phil never mentioned that anything like this might happen.”

“I prefer Scrooge McDuck, thanks.  You should see me take my morning swim through the treasure room,” said Tony.  “Anyway, don’t you two have a bakery to run?”

Wade flipped him off, and Tony cackled.

Later that morning, after walking them through how to operate the machine they were now calling Delilah, Tony sauntered up to the counter and eyed down the menu board.  

“Okra cupcakes?  Really, okra?  That’s a thing you do?”

“Wade likes to experiment,” Clint said with a shrug.  

“I’m sure he does,” Tony responded with a wink.  “Fennel frosting, I’ll take one.”

Clint reached into the display case and pulled one out.  It was . . . Well, it was green.  Not a nice green, either.  A sort of murky green, with stringy bits.  He placed it artfully on a purple napkin and set it on the counter.  

Tony bit into it with gusto.  His eyes went wide and he looked the cupcake over with a huge grin.  “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted in my life.  I’ll take ten.”

“Wait, really?”

“I have a board of directors meeting later that I haven’t been able to get out of.  If I have to sit through boring shit when I could be making things explode, I’m going to make sure those jackholes suffer with me.”

“NO EXPLOSIONS IN THE BAKERY,” Wade shouted from the back.  Which was remarkably hypocritical of him, considering how many times he had managed to set off the fancy sprinkler system before they had even opened for business.  

(The Flaming Arrow Incident was a  _ completely _ different situation, and Clint refused to count it.)

Tony paid with a hundred dollar bill and told Clint to keep the change, which was  _ fucking awesome _ , and meant takeout from the awesome Chinese place for dinner instead of the cheap place down the block.

Pepper showed up for the first time a few minutes later to drag Tony off to his meeting, but she came back later that afternoon, and again the next day, and started ordering breakfast trays and cookie trays and platters of desserts for large corporate benefits and almost single-handedly brought them into financial solvency.  Which was nice, money was a nice thing to have.  They were making payments on their business loan, putting more money back into the bakery itself, and were still managing to pay themselves salaries too.  Not very large ones, but not having to pay rent on top of the mortgage payment on the building meant they didn’t really need much.  

“You know, I should be offended that you made a special cupcake for my amazing CEO-girlfriend but not for me,” Tony said one morning when Clint came down to start baking.  He was tinkering with one of the ovens.

“How did you even get in here?  Wait, no, I don’t want to know.  But I need that oven, please put it back together.”

“Oh, I will!  I’m going to put it back together, and it’ll be a hundred times better than before.  A thousand times better!”   


“I don’t need better, I need it to work the way I’m used to so my croissants don’t get fucked up.”

“You know, a little gratitude would be nice,” Tony said as he pulled his head out of the oven.  “I wouldn’t turn down my own special cupcake.  I’m very special, I should have special things.  Like cupcakes.  I know, you could put those edible gold flakes on them!  It’ll be perfect.”

Clint sighed.  “Tony, no.  Can you just...put my oven back together?  It’s too early for this.”

“Fine, be that way.”  He sounded hurt.  Fuck.  He just managed to hurt the feelings of the billionaire genius who kept breaking into their bakery, which was probably not a very wise entrepreneurial thing to do.  Mornings were the worst, but for some reason he had decided running a bakery was a good idea, so turning around and going back to bed wasn’t an option.

Wade came up behind him, wrapping warm arms around him and kissing the back of his neck, because that was a thing they did now.  An awesome thing, that just made turning around and going back up to bed even more tempting.

“Don’t be a dick, Tony, just put the oven back together and stop making Clint sad or I’m going to have to kick your ass.”

“But...cupcakes…”

“Look, you can take my leftover sauerkraut and beer cupcakes from yesterday.  They’re incredibly disgusting.  You’ll wish your tongue had died.  In fact, dead rotten tongue would probably taste better than these cupcakes.  You’ll love ‘em.  And I will personally make you your own special cupcakes.  But it’s going to take some time because I have an idea but no fucking clue how to make it work, and until then, my baby needs his oven.”  Wade punctuated his words with more kisses on Clint’s neck.  Going upstairs was starting to sound like a  _ really _ good idea.  They didn’t have to be open all the time, right?

“Oh, ew, you’re all mushy.  There are probably cooties all over this bakery.  Fine, fine, you’ve convinced me, I’ll put this thing back together and then leave.”  He gestured at Wade with the screwdriver.  “But don’t think I’m going to forget about either of those offers.”

He finished up and left in record time, which turned out to be a good thing because Wade kept kissing Clint, and then Clint was the one kissing Wade, and then things kind of escalated from there.  They ended up making quite a mess on one of the prep tables and had to open with only half their normal stock ready.  

And really, Clint should have been paying more attention to his measurements, and less attention to what they’d done that morning, because the sprinkler system went off.  Again.

Clint blinked up at it stupidly, holding a tray full of the smoking ruins of what were supposed to be White Russian cupcakes.

“Maybe less vodka next time,” said Wade, flipping the shut off valve on the sprinkler and taking the tray from Clint.

“Yeah, maybe.”  Clint pulled off his soaked t-shirt, which dislodged his left hearing aid.  “Fuck, they can’t get wet.”

Wade grabbed a paper towel, and Clint wrapped up his aids.  

Whatever Wade was saying, he was frowning as he said it.  Clint nudged him to get him to repeat it.

“Shirt,” Wade signed.

Oh.  They actually had a poster that said, “No shirt, no shoes, no service.”  It was in the kitchen, not out front.  Inspector Fury had opinions about bare feet, no matter how early in the morning Wade and Clint worked.

“Stay,” signed Wade, and he dashed for the stairs.  

Clint dried off his aids while he waited.  They seemed okay.  Good thing, they were too expensive to go replacing them all the time.  He put them back in, working his jaw to seat them properly.

Wade slid down with a bundle of clothes, muttering, “ . . . can’t believe I actually told him to _put clothes on_.  Good going, Wilson.”

Clint laughed.  

Wade turned and grinned.  “Hey baby.  Brought your khakis, too.”

“Thanks.”  

Wade wiped down the water soaked oven and floor as Clint changed.  “Along with the impromptu wet t-shirt contests, it’s pretty nice that we can’t burn the place down.”

“Yeah, the sprinklers were a great idea,” said Clint.  If he happened to enjoy the view of Wade on his hands and knees, he could definitely show his appreciation later.  “We owe Thor big time.”

“Hee hee, Thor.  Big.  I mean, yeah.  We do.  If only there was a way to repay him.”

“Wade -- “

“Remind him of home.  Thank him for saving our fine asses so many times.”  Oh god, he shimmied his hips and looked up through his lashes with a big damned smirk on his lips.

Clint knew exactly what would happen if he let himself get distracted with thinking about Wade’s lips.  Again.

“We’re not bringing in any lutefisk,” Clint said, not quite as forcefully as he meant to.

Wade pouted and made puppy eyes.

Fuck, not the puppy eyes again.  Clint turned away, grabbing a mixing bowl.  “What do you think, white russian cookies, instead?  And save the vodka for the icing?”

“Yeah.  Cookies sound great.”

Clint googled lutefisk again later, just to be sure.  The word ‘gelatinous’ came up way too frequently in the descriptions.  Nope.  Not in this bakery.

 

* * *

Wade’s experiments for Tony’s special cupcake ended up taking several weeks and resulted in creative cursing and tray after tray of plain vanilla cupcakes dotted with bright artificial colors, or topped with sprinkles, or filled with sugary candy.

“Are you trying to make funfetti cupcakes?  They’re delicious, but I can’t figure out what you’re trying to do with these.”

“I am _trying_ to make this fucking _hygroscopic bullshit_ into something _fucking magical_ ,” Wade said as he stormed back into the kitchen.

Clint surreptitiously checked his hearing aid again, because he wasn’t sure if it was malfunctioning or not.  Not all of that had sounded like actual words.  

Sometimes without meaning to Wade made him feel like the ignorant rube he really was at heart.  It wasn’t like there was much opportunity for a standard K-12 education when you’re on the road ten months out of the year, so Clint had been home schooled.  At least, that was what they called it, but it mostly consisted of someone giving him a couple of worksheets every so often and telling him to figure it out, and reading whatever he could get his hands on that caught his interest.  He had gotten his GED at sixteen, and thus ended Clint Barton’s educational endeavors.

Wade, now, Wade might act like an idiot sometimes, but he was smarter than most people gave him credit for.  Hell, he had a goddamned Master’s Degree in something complicated with too many words courtesy of his years in the military.

So maybe he felt that Wade could maybe have done better than him, and maybe that was why he’d spent so long in denial about how they felt about each other, but somehow it seemed like he was the one Wade wanted to be with.  Insecurity, bad days, and all.

He looked up at the wall over his main prep table, where the illustrated front page of their business plan was hanging in a frame.  He wasn’t sure how he had gotten so lucky, but he planned to hold on to it with both hands for as long as it lasted.

A couple of weeks later, Wade ran upstairs brandishing a cupcake, an almost maniacal look of glee on his face.  He was wearing a ruffly pink apron that he definitely hadn’t had on earlier.  Clint would have noticed.  Especially since Wade didn’t seem to have a shirt on under there.  Luckily they’d already closed for the evening, because there was no way Clint could focus on anything else, not with the way those ruffles framed Wade’s chest, giving teasing hints of his nipples as he moved.  

“Try this one, Clint baby, I think I’ve finally done it!”  Oh, right, the cupcake.  Damn, Wade’s shoulders looked spectacular with pink lace all around them.  He held up the cupcake for Clint to take a bite out of.  “A big bite, now, you want to be sure to get some of the filling.  

The cake was delicious, pineapple flavored with just a hint of coconut, but the filling pulled his attention away from that almost immediately as it started popping and fizzing in his mouth.

“What the hell,” Clint asked through his mouthful of cake.  

“Pop rocks!  And do you have any idea how fucking hard it was to figure out how to keep them fizzy?  Can’t add them to the batter, that’s an instant failure.  Can’t sprinkle them on the icing, can’t just scoop out the center and add them as filling, even the baked cupcakes are too wet.”

“So how’d you do it?”  Clint was more than willing to play along when Wade was this excited.  The apron had a bow on it, right over his heart.  It jiggled every time Wade bounced.  It was nine kinds of distracting, every one of them good.

“Coconut oil!”  Wade brandished the jar he was holding in his other hand, apparently not sure Clint knew what coconut oil was.  That really shouldn’t be so cute.   “Just a little, brought to slightly above room temperature, to coat the candy.  The oil forms enough of a barrier against the moisture in the icing and cake to keep it fizzy!  I don’t think it’s going to work long-term, but they should stay fizzy for at least a day or so.”  He let out a little squeal and he bounced and oh fuck Clint was so far gone on this man it hurt.  He took another bite of the cupcake to keep from embarrassing himself, nipping Wade’s fingers in the process.

Wade’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer to Clint and held the cupcake up in offering.  Clint took another bite, took the entire thing, licking at Wade’s thumb before pulling away.

“You know, there are some other awesome things about coconut oil, besides being hydrophobic,” Wade said, spinning the top off the jar and tucking it into the pocket of his apron.

“Hydrophobic?” Clint said, hastily swallowing the cupcake.  “Did you make that up?  That sounds made up.”  

“Nah, it’s a real word.  I’d have gone with ‘makes water scream in terror’, but chemists are boring.  Coconut oil also has high viscosity, and even some antimicrobial properties.”  Wade dipped his fingers into the jar, and Clint was starting to miss the whole licking Wade’s fingers thing they’d been doing before the science lesson.  Some horrible distant part of him wondered if this was what flirting with Tony would be like.  Ugh brain, no.

“Okay?”

“Which means it’s nice and safe on skin.  Even delicate skin.”  He set down the jar and stepped into Clint’s space, whispering in his ear, “But my favorite part is that it’s very, very slippery.”

Wade’s fingers slid under Clint’s shirt and up his chest with almost no friction at all.  

“Okay, slippery I know.  Slippery is good.  Fuck, slippery is so good, Wade.”  That came out maybe a little more needy than he’d meant it to, but it didn’t scare Wade off or anything.

“It’s better with you,” Wade said, almost a moan, as he flicked his thumb over a nipple.  “It’s the best with you.  It -- “

Clint hadn’t meant to interrupt, he just couldn’t wait anymore to kiss him.  Wade’s mouth was divine, he kissed like it was his true calling, and Clint _wanted_ him.  Wanted him in a quivery, chest aching, dizzying kind of way that Clint wasn’t used to at all, even though the kissing part of their relationship had been going on for a while now.  

He stopped long enough to pull his shirt off before dragging Wade in by his apron and locking their mouths together again.  He tasted even better than the cupcake, and the cupcake had been damned tasty.

“God, I like your mouth,” Clint said, with his usual trademark wit.

“Is that a hint?”   Wade smiled and reached for the button on Clint’s jeans.  “Because another nice thing about coconut oil is that it’s totally edible.  Like you.”

Clint laughed until he lost his breath, which really didn’t take long, under the circumstances.  He liked to think his own mouth wasn’t too bad, either, and he certainly didn’t get any complaints when he returned the favor.  They sprawled bonelessly on the couch after they were done, and Wade traced slick fingertips over Clint’s shoulder and neck.  It turned out that pink ruffles made Wade’s ass look more spectacular than ever, too.

“We’re going to have to buy more coconut oil for the bakery,” Clint said, still slightly breathless.  “There’s no way that jar is ever going back down there again.”

“Yea, Inspector Fury probably wouldn’t approve.”

“OH GOD never bring up Fury again when we don’t have pants on,” Clint begged.

Wade baked a fresh batch of Sparking Stark Surprises the next morning, topping them off with mango buttercream and some sparklers that he had stashed somewhere.  

“Because you never know,” was what Wade told him when asked why he had them, and that seemed reasonable enough.  “Also, cutting mangos is a nightmare, I’m pretty sure they were placed on this earth to make my life unnecessarily complicated.”

Possibly because they actually wanted to see him, Tony didn’t show up that morning until Clint broke down and called him.  On the phone, which turned out to be a mistake, because “Tony on the phone” and “rush hour train car downtown” sounded pretty much the same when filtered through his aid.  Hoping that this was actually Tony and not some kind of creepy robotic butler who was one bad line of code away from world domination, he said “Cupcakes.  Come and get ‘em,” before hanging up.  

Rudeness was how Tony showed his affection, maybe it worked in reverse too.  Or maybe Tony was going to show up with an army of lawyers and try to sue them out of existence.  He programmed Pepper’s number into his speed dial, just in case.

What felt like just moments later, Tony burst through the door.  “Cupcakes!  Gimme gimme gimme!  What are they?  Gold leaf?  Dom Perignon icing?  Caviar filling?”

Wade gave him an unimpressed look.  “Even I have standards, Tony.  Give me some credit here.”

“Also I’m not sure we could afford those things and still be able to, like, pay the electric bill,” Clint pointed out.  “Only one of us is a billionaire, and it’s not the two of us in aprons.”

“Speaking of which, ruffles are a good look on you, Three-Dub,” Tony responded.  “I like the whole boho shabby chic thing you have going.”

“I did go out of my way to make you special cupcakes,” said Wade.  “It only makes sense for me to wear my special cupcake apron.”  He put the tray on the counter, then pulled out his lighter to ignite one of the sparklers.

Clint shot a nervous look up at the sprinkler system, hoping that this wasn’t going to be enough to set them off.  It shouldn’t, but one tiny little incident with a brulee torch and a poorly placed cardboard box had left him a little gunshy.

Tony grinned.  “Excellent use of explosives, this is my aesthetic.  Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to keep guessing?”

Wade smiled back.  “You’re definitely going to have to find that out for yourself.”

“Are there diamonds?  Only diamonds don’t agree with my digestive system, I’m very sensitive, there was an incident a couple of years back in Bali…”

“Shut up and eat, Tony,” said Clint, almost as eager as Wade to see his reaction.

For the first time, Clint wondered if maybe Tony wasn’t such a genius after all, because he pulled out the sparkler and shoved the entire cupcake in his mouth in one go.  He had time to chew exactly once before he made a muffled “Eeep!” sound, slapped his hand over his mouth, and  doubled over, disappearing behind the counter.  

Oh shit, they’d killed the billionaire, that couldn’t be good for business.  Clint rushed around the counter, and there was a horrible choking gasping sound as -- Tony Fucking Stark was cackling hysterically on the floor of their bakery.    

“MOTHER FUCKING POP ROCKS!” he shouted, spraying crumbs all over his stupidly expensive suit.  There were actual tears streaming down his face, and he slapped his knee and threw his head back and howled with laughter, which was fairly disgusting given how much food was still in his mouth.

“I think he likes them,” Wade said with glee.

“I think you’re right,” Clint responded, leaning in close and rubbing his arm.  “You did so, so good.”


	3. Chapter 3

“CLINT!  CLINT BABY I AM HAVING A CRISIS AND I NEED YOU!”

Wade sounded panicked.  Wade never panicked.  He was occasionally overly dramatic, but this?  This sounded bad.  Maybe he was dying.  SHIT.  

“DON’T DIE, WADE.”

He left the register, leaving Pepper standing there still trying to pay, and sprinted towards the back.  Actually there wasn’t any sprinting happening, he sort of just hobbled faster than usual, something he was going to regret later, but Wade needed help.

Or, at least Wade claimed he needed help.  And he certainly looked panicked, but he seemed to be completely unhurt, sitting in front of their beat-up laptop.  No blood, no chest-clutching, no attacking forces in all-black uniforms.

“I do not  _ fucking _ believe this shit!  Do you know what they found?  Do you?!”

“I can safely say I have no idea what’s going on right now, so that’s a no.”

“ _ The honey is a lie _ , Clint!”  Wade poked the screen with enough force to make the laptop rock backwards.  “These people tested commercially sold honey, and found that almost all of it was just honey-flavored corn syrup!  It’s an outrage is what it is!  Is nothing sacred?”

“Well shit,” Clint said as he squinted down at the screen.  Ultra-processed...tainted with heavy metals… “Wait, does that really say ‘global honey laundering conspiracy?’”

“Yes!  And we’re the victims of it.  The honey-almond shortbread, the honey challah, our glazed honeybuns!  All lies.  We’ve lied to our customers, we’ve fed them false pastries, I will never be able to show my face in public again.  I might die of the shame of it all.”

“But okay, just to clarify, you’re not actually dying right now?”  Clint kind of felt like he had to ask, because mentally shifting gears from ‘Wade is bleeding out in the kitchen’ to ‘global honey laundering conspiracy’ was taking some work.

“Only of the shame,” Wade replied.

“I might have a solution for you actually,” came a voice from behind them.  Pepper smiled apologetically.  “Sorry, I thought you might need some help so I followed you back here.”

“Pepper!  Tony claims you can do magic, but I don’t know that even you have enough magic to fix a global honey laundering conspiracy.”  Aww, no, Wade looked sad, and there wasn’t anybody handy that Clint could punch for it.  Wade wasn’t allowed to be sad, not when there wasn’t any way for Clint to make it better.

“Maybe not the honey laundering part, but I do know a reliable beekeeper,” she said with a laugh.

The card she handed over was for Banner’s Bees, and had little gold embossed bees on it.  Wade grabbed it and looked at it with suspicion.  

“How do we know he’s not in on the honey conspiracy?” Wade asked with a frown.

Pepper just laughed.  “Bruce has hives all over, including ones he rents out to local farms.  He’ll introduce you to his bees if you ask.  We have three of his hives at Stark Tower.”

“I’ll meet him,” Wade said, “but only because you’re vouching for him.”

 

* * *

They arranged to meet Bruce at the farmer’s market on Saturday morning.  Clint was content to roll out of bed and pull on the closest pair of mostly-clean jeans, but Wade seemed to want to plan the outing like a military op.

“Okay, so when we get there, I’m going to --”

Clint cut him off.  “You’re going to recon, I’m supposed to watch your six.  Got it, can we just go now?”  Watching Wade’s six wasn’t exactly a hardship.  It was a very round, shapely six and Clint liked to take every opportunity possible to watch it.  There might even have been some occasional leering, just a tiny bit.

It didn’t take long after Wade had walked off into the crowd of vegetable-laden tables and battered pickups for Clint to spot Bruce’s table.  The morning light made the jars glow, an eye-catching array of colors from pale gold to deep amber.  The table had more than just bottles of honey, which surprised him.  There were tapered candles hanging from the pop-up tent, bars of soap that smelled of lavender and sage, tubes of lipgloss, and pots of salve.  There was an actual glass-fronted beehive set up behind the main table, so you could see the honeycomb and bees moving around inside.  It was cool, but also a little bit creepy.  That was a hell of a lot of bees, all wiggling around doing whatever it was that bees did.

“Hey,” Clint said as he approached.  “Are you Bruce?”

“That’s me,” the beekeeper responded with a smile.  He looked like the sort of person who had those jackets with leather patches on the elbows hanging up in his closet and had stories of his time spent backpacking in Nepal.

“I’m Clint, from the bakery?  Pepper said you were the man to talk to about locally sourced honey.”

“You’ve definitely come to the right place,” Bruce said, his smile turning even warmer..  “What kind of quantities are you looking for and-”

“Clint baby, I thought I lost you!”  Wade came running up waving a green...something.

“What the hell is that?”

“Kale?  I think Old MacKnight said it was kale.  I have no idea what to do with it, I’m not sure it’s supposed to be food or garnish, but I’m going to make danishes with it.”

“Kale is very good for you, and is delicious, but I’m not sure you should be using it for danishes,” Bruce commented.  

Wade turned, eyes narrow as he stalked closer to the honey stand.  “You.  Beekeeper.  Is your honey legitimate or are you a front for the global honey laundering conspiracy?”

Clint wasn’t sure what exactly had changed since it didn’t look like Bruce had even shifted position and his expression was still open, but the air between him and Wade was suddenly charged and tense.  

“All my honey comes from my own hives.  I filter and bottle it myself.  You’re welcome to taste-test, I like to think that my honey speaks for itself.”

“But who speaks for your bees, hmmm?”

“I do.”  Bruce was definitely starting to look less peaceful.  

Wade picked up a bottle of honey at random, breaking eye contact only to glance at the label.  “Apple blossom honey, huh?  And how, exactly, can you know that?  Do you trap your bees, force them to only gather one kind of nectar?  Do you use evil powers to leash them to your will?”

“My apple blossom honey is gathered from the hives I rent out to several local apple orchards,” Bruce responded, and wow you could actually hear his teeth grinding.  That couldn’t possibly be healthy.  “The bees can go wherever they want and gather whatever type of nectar they want, but you can be sure that the majority of this particular honey came from apple blossoms.  You are, of course, welcome to test that if you’d like.”

“I just might.  I _juuuust_ might.”

The intensity of the eye contact between them was getting distinctly uncomfortable.  For Clint, at least, since Bruce and Wade looked like they might keep it up all day.  Suddenly, Wade relaxed, tension melting out of his shoulders.

“So what do you think about that pesticide that’s been linked to colony collapse?” Wade asked.

“It’s BULLSHIT,” Bruce roared back as he flipped his table.  He...actually flipped his own table.  Bottles of honey bounced everywhere, the basket of lip balms went flying in an oddly graceful arc, and the other market sellers around them seemed utterly unconcerned by the event.  

“IT IS FUCKING BULLSHIT,” Wade yelled back amidst the carnage.  “BEES ARE FUCKING IMPORTANT!”

“BEES ARE SO FUCKING IMPORTANT,” Bruce shouted back.  “WE WOULD ALL STARVE TO DEATH WITHOUT BEES!  Do you know how many crops are pollinated by bees?”

“NO!”

“A LOT!  Melons, apples, almonds, berries and cucumbers!  LEMONS AND LIMES!”

“I FUCKING LOVE LIMES!”

“Um, should we maybe pick this up?”  Clint wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he wasn’t used to being the responsible one.  It was strange and unnatural and he wasn’t sure he approved.

“Oh, um…”  Bruce seemed to suddenly shrink, body language changing completely as he ducked his head and hunched over.  “I’m so, so sorry about that.  Just...here, let me, you’re customers you shouldn’t have to do that, it was all my fault, I’m so sorry about that.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have glass bottles, man,” Wade said with a laugh.  “There’d be no coming back from that.”

Bruce froze, still bent over from picking up a bottle.  Objectively speaking, he also had a very nice six, although not nearly as appealing as Wade’s.  “Uh, yea, good thing,” he said with an awkward laugh.

“Oh Bruce, honey, not again!”  A tall black woman wearing a disappointed expression bent down to pick up the basket.  “That’s three times this month!”

“Farmer lady!” Wade yelled.

“Don’t you even get started with me again today, Wade Wilson,” she said, pointing her finger at Wade.

“I know, Misty,” Bruce said with a sigh.  “It’s just, we were talking about pesticides and…”

“And your dumb ass got worked up, again, and flipped your damn table, again.”

“It was awesome,” Wade said as he waved the kale around.

“I know I didn’t sell you that lovely kale so you could abuse it that way,” she responded.

“You shouldn’t mess with me,” Wade said.  “I know kung-fu.”

She waved her right arm at him, which Clint realized was a fairly realistic prosthetic.  “You’re not special, dumbass, I still remember that shit you got into in Kabul.”

“You promised to never mention that again,” Wade hissed back.  Clint filed that away as something to ask about later and ignored the rest of their conversation in favor of helping Bruce set his table back to rights.

“So, the honey,” he said in a bid to actually accomplish what they had come here to do.  A mature and responsible business owner talking business with another mature and responsible business owner, right.

“Right, the honey,” Bruce said with a sigh as he handed over a flyer.  “Look, this has my bulk rates for the different types, although I have limited stock on some of them.  I’ll give you a couple of bottles of my basic varieties to try, and if you want to sample any of the others give me a call and I’ll drop by the bakery.  Pepper’s told me a lot about it and I’ve been meaning to visit anyway.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“If you want me to set aside any of the specialty honeys for you at my next harvest, just let me know by April.  I do most of my harvesting in late spring, although there are some that I harvest in the summer, depending on regional nectar flow and a couple of other factors.”

“Huh.”  Beekeeping sounded way more complicated than his childhood memories of Winnie the Pooh had implied.  Changing the subject, he grabbed a tin off the table.  “How good is this salve for burns,” he asked.

“Don’t put it on a fresh burn,” Bruce said with his hands up.  “For a fresh burn you want to cool it with cold water, then stick with an antibiotic ointment or aloe.  The oils in this could make a burn worse.”

“No, not a fresh burn, um…”  Clint glanced over at Wade, still talking animatedly with Misty, scars clearly visible in the morning light.

“Ah,” Bruce said, eyes soft.  “Yes, this would be excellent for moisturizing burn scars.”

“Okay.  Okay then, I’ll take one.”  

Bruce quoted him a price that was much lower than the one tagged on the tin.  “Friends and family discount.”

“That’s...yea, that’s...good.  Let me return the favor when you come visit us, okay?”  He winced.  “I think I’m just going to...go now,” Clint said, feeling awkward, but the bending and kneeling hadn’t done anything good for his hip and it was starting to burn in the way that meant he needed to get home and put some ice on it or he’d be out of commission for the rest of the day.  And then Natasha would yell at him again.

He pulled Wade away from his conversation with Misty by mentioning his hip, and Wade was quick to move in close and grope his ass while offering support at the same time.

“Don’t let Bruce get away without demonstrating the waggle dance next time,” Misty called after them with a laugh.

Back at home, Clint settled into the couch and tried to arrange the ice pack on his hip, when he found the tin of salve in his pocket.  He pulled it out and scrunched the ice deeper, hating the cold, but not as much as he hated the ache.

Now was as good a time as any for the salve, though.  A distraction was called for, and Wade was always good for that.

“Hey, c’mere,” Clint called, and Wade came bounding in, singing about Alexander Hamilton.  

“And there’s a million things I haven’t done, but just you wait,” Wade sang, with a leer that was maybe not what the lyrics had intended.

The distraction thing was working already, and Clint managed to smile up at him.  He held out the tin for Wade to read and said, “I got this from Bruce, you want to try it?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Wade dropped to his knees so gracefully that Clint didn’t know whether to be impressed or jealous.  Impressed was more fun, and Wade on his knees was a hell of a sight, so he went with that.  He spun the top off the tin and dabbed out a bit of salve.  As gently as possible, he smoothed it over a scar just under Wade’s cheekbone.

Wade’s eyes fluttered closed, and there was something about the way his lashes fell against his cheeks, something in the way he sighed, the way his shoulders relaxed and his head tipped back.  Something in the way Clint’s heart started beating too fast.  The way Wade trusted him, the way Clint would never hurt him, not in a million years.  Something about how Clint had fallen so completely for this man.

Something brilliant and terrifying and true.

Ignoring the ground glass feeling in his hip, Clint bent closer and brushed his lips against Wade’s forehead.  Wade blinked up at him.  He had every reason to be surprised, because it wasn’t something Clint had ever done before, despite everything else they’d been doing.  Then again, Clint had never ... He’d never ... He cupped Wade’s face and kissed his eyebrow.  His cheek.  His gorgeous lips.

He sat back.  Wade was gazing up at him expectantly.  

“Oh, right.”  Clint dabbed more salve onto his fingertips and rubbed it along Wade’s jaw, biting his lip so his mouth couldn’t run away with him.  There were so many words and feelings bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, but he had no idea what he might say if he opened his mouth and let it all out.  He knew Wade was safe, that Wade would accept him no matter what, but a lifetime of fear was hard to overcome.  Wade would still be here when he was ready.  If he knew one thing absolutely, it was that.

* * *

Ever since Clint and Wade had resolved their little misunderstanding about the nature of their relationship, Wade had been using new methods to persuade Clint to allow in some of his more exotic ingredients.  The haggis had been...not fine, but it really wasn’t all that different than sausage, and wow that was a train of thought Clint planned to never spend any more time on, because sausage was delicious.

The parsnips were just odd, and the okra was slightly horrifying, and the wasps were a thing that were  _ never, ever happening again _ (but had been surprisingly good for business), but this?  No.  Absolutely not.  Clint was not a pushover, and lutefisk was not going to enter his bakery, not ever.

Not even when Wade tried to bribe him with blowjobs.

“Dammit Wade!” he said, his words coming out breathless and entirely lacking in any kind of force.  “Not in the kitchen, our health inspection!”

“You sure you want me to stop right now, baby?”  Wade smiled up at him, looking adorable and more than slightly wicked and entirely debauched. 

Lutefisk had to be washed off any plate or utensil it touched almost immediately, or it basically turned into cement.  The thought of it anywhere near his mixers was enough to make Clint moan.

Or maybe that was Wade.  And Wade’s mouth.  And Wade’s _tongue_ , holy shit!

Still, blowjob or not, he wasn’t going to budge on The Lutefisk Situation.

* * *

Bruce was as good as his word, and stopped by a couple of days later with bashful apologies and more samples.  He left with a box full of one of everything they had for sale that day, after making Clint and Wade cry with laughter when he demonstrated the waggle dance that bees use to communicate.

“Clint baby, are you a bee?”  Wade said after catching his breath.  “Because that ass is talking to me.”

That was enough to set the three of them off again, and to cement Bruce as a permanent part of their found family.

Tony came in with Bruce one day, and it was pretty clear from the kissing and the groping that they were more just friends, unless Tony kissed all his friends that way.  He had never kissed Wade that way at least, which was good, because if he had Clint would probably have had to brain him with Delilah’s thermowhatever.  The whole situation made Clint feel awkward, because he had no idea if this was something he was supposed to do something about.  Should he say something?  If Tony Fucking Stark, who broke into their bakery at three in the morning and bought Wade’s most disgusting creations and left ridiculous tips, was cheating on his girlfriend Pepper, who was their undisputed best customer and personal matchmaker, did he have some kind of responsibility to either of them?  There didn’t seem to be any kind of a right answer.

The situation cleared itself up without any intervention needed, as it turned out, when a knock on the door one morning just after they had just started the day’s baking revealed Tony, Bruce, and Pepper together, all dolled up and clearly still drunk from whatever they had been up to all night.  They were laughing and handsy with each other and moving together in a way that made it clear that whatever their relationship was, it was something well-worn and comfortable and steady in a way that Clint hoped he and Wade would have some day.

“Breakfast, my good man,” Tony demanded.

“Tony, hush, be nice to our lovely baker friends,” Pepper said in response, but any force the words might have had was rather ruined by her giggling.  A drunk Pepper was an adorable Pepper, even if she’d probably stab him with one of her terrifying heels if he ever said as much.  And it was incredibly damn impressive that she was still able walk in them.

“No worries,” Clint said.  It was hardly the rudest thing Tony had ever said to him.  Tony was Tony, and expecting him to be anyone else was just asking for trouble.  He gave them some of the new quinoa zucchini muffins he had been working on, since Wade had brought back what felt like five hundred pounds of zucchini after the last time he saw Misty.  Bruce’s eyes watered up after his first bite.

“Is this my buckwheat honey?”

“Yea, I really liked the way it made the quinoa taste all nutty,” Clint said, before finding himself with an unexpected arm full of beekeeper.  

“It’s perfect,” he said, still hugging Clint.  “You’re perfect.  You’re my favorite bakers, I’m going to introduce you to every local farmer I know so you can source most of your supplies locally.  Shopping locally is so important too, Clint.”  Bruce was definitely a handsy drunk, and he quickly found himself with Bruce clinging to his front and Wade clinging to his back, chin hooked over his shoulder.  

“Local farmers are important to the local economy, and also to the bees,” Wade said with a nod that dug his chin into Clint’s shoulder.

“We have to save the bees,” Bruce said, face planted into Clint’s other shoulder.  “And eggs!  We need to get you free-range eggs.  Do you even know what factory farms are--”

Pepper finally gently pried him away.  “I think it’s time we got you to bed, you can tell Clint all about the horrors of factory farming after you’ve gotten some rest,” she said.

Tony grabbed Bruce’s other arm.  “Yes, we definitely need to get you both in bed, and naked, and then we can--”  

Pepper shoved her hand over his mouth to cut him off.  “Yes, quite, lovely to see you both, thank you for feeding us,” she said as she ushered them all out the door.

Bruce’s muffin,  _ The Farmer’s Market _ , made it on to the permanent rotation that very day, although it took Clint longer to get rid of the mental images that early-morning visit had caused.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint was putting in another tray of bagels when Bucky all but  _ bounced _ downstairs, freshly showered and wearing clothes that definitely hadn’t been anywhere near a dumpster lately.  In fact…

“Hey, those are my pants,” he said with a frown.  

“Yea, but they make my ass look fantastic,” Bucky said with a grin, “and I have a date.  So I’m borrowin’ them.”

“Your ass really does look fantastic,” Wade said.  Clint might have pouted, maybe, just a little bit, because Wade followed that up with, “but not as fantastic as Clint’s ass.  Who’s your date, anyone we know?”

“His name is Steve,” Bucky said with a decidedly dopey grin.  “He’s like fifty pounds of angry in a ten pound sack, so fucking gorgeous it hurts, and he might just be the best person I have ever met in my life.”

“Wow,” Clint said.  “You’ve got it bad.”

“I really, really do.  And he can’t have gluten, so you assholes had better help me woo him with baked goods.”

“Bucky,” Wade said in his most serious tone, “I will help you woo the fuck out of Steve.”

He was as good as his word too, testing out every gluten free recipe he could get his hands on and developing a few of his own to make new things for Bucky to pass on to Steve and listening to each new story about Steve starting a fight with a skinhead or Steve defending a child against a teenage bully half his age and three times his weight with breathless delight and unrestrained glee.  If Clint had been a less secure man he might have been jealous, but he wasn’t.  No, he was a mature and reasonable adult who absolutely did not feel the need to manhandle his partner and kiss him breathless right there in the kitchen.  Because he was a mature and completely secure adult businessman who never did things like that he absolutely did not have his hands up Wade’s shirt and his tongue down Wade’s throat when Inspector Fury of the Department of Health walked in on them.

“Again?  Really?”

That ended up being...not the worst inspection they had ever had, barely.  The bakery at least passed, but Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever manage another erection again after the dressing-down Fury had given them for unnecessary lewdness within ten feet of a food preparation surface.

 

* * *

“But picture this,” Wade said.  “Lutefisk biscuits, with that cheese that’s actually supposed to be moldy to spice it up.”

“I read that the EPA classified lutefisk as a toxin,” was Clint’s response.  “I don’t think Inspector Fury would approve.”

“That is a dirty, nasty rumor that has no basis in fact,” Wade said.  

“Are you sure?  Because this webpage right here says that Wisconsin had to specially exempt it from classification as a toxin in their workplace safety laws.”

Wade frowned.  It did say that.

“Do you really want to have to explain feeding our customers possibly-toxic fish to Fury?”  Clint was not even remotely above using the ridiculous health department requirements in his favor for once when the delicious smells of fresh-baked bread, untainted by weird fish jello, were on the line.

“I’m pretty sure that guy has a side job as a mob enforcer or super-spy assassin or something.  I’ve met black ops people who were less terrifying,” Wade said.

“There you go,” Clint said.  “If it’s a choice between lutefisk and your life, I’m going to choose you every time.”

Wade all but leaped into his lap.  “Baby, that might just the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”  He leaned in and bit at Clint’s ear.  “Let me show you exactly how much I appreciate you.”

That made today’s score Lutefisk: 0, Clint: 100,000,000,000.

 

* * *

Clint glared out the window.  At least the ice was finally melting.  It had been pretty for about five seconds, until Wade went out the front door to go help search for Bucky, and had promptly fallen on his ass.

After months of physical therapy, Clint’s hip had improved dramatically, but it would never be the same again, and trying to help Wade to his feet out on that damned skating rink that used to be a sidewalk had been a nightmare.  They’d both ended up too exhausted to even make it back upstairs.  Thankfully, Bucky had been found without their help, but there was a huge purple bruise on Wade’s hip the next morning, which hadn’t helped Clint’s opinion of the weather at all.

It was nice that he was allowed to brush soft kisses over the general area, though.  Wade giggled and made all the requisite ass-kissing jokes, and Clint giggled with him and was as gentle as he could possibly be throughout the epic makeout session that naturally followed.

Okay, that part was more than nice.  That part was awesome.  But it still wasn’t worth Wade being hurt.

Two days later, the sun was coming out at last, and the goddamn ice would soon be just a shitty memory, and they might even get some customers.

Wade poked his head out of the gluten free kitchen.  “Are they here yet?”

“No.  Wait, yes.”

Wade scrambled over to the window.  “Where?”

“Just there.”

“You’re sure that’s them?”

“Yeah, Bucky’s got his arm around the other guy’s shoulders, and they’re laughing.”

“That’s so fucking cute!  Man, I wish I had your eyes.  I’d keep them in the nicest jar.”

Clint barked a laugh.  “You need any help in the kitchen?”

“Nah, I’m done.  You already changed?  We can’t risk glutening Steve.   Do you think he’ll like my apron?”  Wade had spent most of yesterday making a new apron out of some Hello Kitty fabric he had found somewhere.  It had big fabric bows on it in addition to the usual ruffles, and Clint thought it was possibly the best thing he had ever seen, given who was wearing it.

Wade bounced on his toes.  “Aww look, he’s all bundled up!”

Clint did not roll his eyes, even though it was annoying that wearing a coat somehow became cute just because it was Steve doing it.

“He’s wearing a _mitten_!”  

Clint frowned, because Steve was gesturing with the hand he didn’t have around Bucky’s waist, and that hand was clearly bare.  The only mitten out there was -- oh -- Bucky was wearing a mitten.  And a coat.

In fact, Bucky looked amazing.  He’d lost some of that sharp, haunted look he usually had.

“And he’s smiling,” Wade said.  “He never smiles like that.  It’s just like ...”  He gave Clint a sidelong look.  “It’s so great they found each other.  I ship it so fucking hard!”

There was no denying, Clint smiled a hell of a lot more these days.  And maybe Wade had always smiled, ever since Clint had known him at least, but it was different now.  He thought about Wade,  stretched out on their bed, all soft and warm, relaxed from Clint’s hands on him.  That smile, that contented, blissful smile ... nobody else got Wade to smile like that.

“Look how cute Steve is!” Wade said, peppering soft punches on Clint’s arm in his excitement.  “He’s just as adorable as advertised.  I mean, if he breaks Bucky’s heart I’ll have to shoot him, but he’s so cute I might feel bad about it.”

“Shoot him with what?”  Guns in the bakery seemed like a bad idea.

“Borrow your bow?”

Clint considered it.  “We should get you your own.  Then we can both shoot him.”

Wade leaned up against Clint’s chest and kissed him on the nose.  “Cool.  You take the left knee, I’ll get the right.”

Settling for nose kisses when he could get the real deal was not happening.  Which was how he ended up grabbing Wade’s ass with both hands and shoving him against the nearest wall when the bell over the door rang.

“Jesus christ, guys.  I texted you and everything,” said Bucky, as Clint set Wade back on his feet and tried to pretend to be a grownup.  Mature, responsible business owner, right.

“Uh, hi Bucky.  And you must be Steve.  Nice to meet you.  I’m Clint and this is Wade, my . . . “ partner sounded like they just ran a business together.  “Boyfriend?”

Wade scrunched up his nose.  “That makes us sound like twelve year olds.  I mean, we kind of are twelve, but still.  How about your darling dear?  No, no, your sweet baboo.”

Clint chuckled.  ‘Darling dear’ wasn’t exactly off the mark, though. Wade was -- God, he was darling and he was dear.  One of the bows on his apron had gotten rumpled with all the kissing, and Clint smoothed it out, gathering his courage. “You know what you are?  You’re the guy I’m in love with.  How about I call you that?”

Wade didn’t run screaming, though he looked kind of stunned.  “I -- Yeah, you can call me that.  And I can definitely call you that.  Holy fuck, really?!”

“Yeah, really.  I -- “  Oh, it was Clint’s turn to get shoved against a wall.  Nice.

“So these are my asshole friends who run the bakery,” Bucky said.

“They seem very professional.”

Wade lifted one hand, probably flipping those guys off.  “Oh!  Oops!” he said, letting go of Clint and turning to Bucky and Steve.  “Steve!  You really are tiny and adorable!  I’m Wade, and this is Clint, the guy I’m in love with.  I’m your biggest fan.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Steve, shaking the hand Wade was waving in his face.

“And don’t worry, I promise Clint and I have never had sex in the gluten free kitchen.”

“That’s terrifyingly specific,” said Bucky.  “What about the regular kitchen?”

“That was one time,” said Clint.

“Three.”  Wade held up his fingers.  “Well, maybe five.  Does it count if -- “

“Stop talking!” Bucky shouted.  “Oh god Stevie, I’m so sorry.“

“You call him Stevie?!” Wade squeaked.  “Can I call him Stevie?”

“NO.  You can’t fucking call him anything, because he’s never coming back again!”

“Hey, whoa,” said Steve.  “They’re your friends.  Besides, you know how hard it is to find actual gluten free food?  I’m sure they clean up after.”

“Of course,” said Clint.

“Yep.  The counter, the floor, that spot on the refrigerator -- “

“OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” Steve bellowed.  The guy had a hell of a loud voice.

Wade giggled and propped his chin on his hands.  “I’m going to pick you up and put you in my pocket.”

Steve was thoroughly unimpressed.  “You try picking me up and I’ll rip your fucking face off and beat you with it.”

Wade’s grin somehow got bigger and he squealed delightedly, “EEEEEEE!”

Bucky tugged Steve’s arm.  “I don’t want you fighting Wade.  He was Special Forces, he could break you with just his pinky.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.  “I will fight him and I will win.”

“Right, okay, you would, but then I’d have to fight Clint, and I still like Clint.  I don’t wanna fight him.”

“Nobody is fighting anybody,” said Clint.  As if to prove it, he pulled out the box that Wade had set aside, lifted off the lid and pushed it across the counter.

“Maple marzipan macaroons,” Wade said proudly.  From the look of them, he should be proud.  They were a pale golden brown, with a slightly darker filling sandwiched between them.

Steve bit into one, his eyes went wide.  “Mmm, the almond really comes through.  What made you decide on maple marzipan?”

Wade grinned.  “Because ‘maple marzipan macaroons’ is fun to say five times fast.  It was either that or ‘parsnip pimento pinwheels’.”

Bucky and Steve blinked at each other, and cracked up laughing.

“He’s totally serious,” Bucky said, still chuckling.

Steve leaned against him.  “I know, I ate the fucking strawberry coriander monstrosities.”

“Well they couldn’t have been that bad if you managed to eat them,” Wade said, bizarrely smug.

“You could have gone with pumpkin pistachio pinwheels,” Steve said.   “Or, pecan praline pinwheels.”

Wade frowned.  “But that’s not the point.  Everybody does pecan praline.  I’m never going to be as good as Clint at the regular stuff.  All I can do is be aggressively unique and try to keep up.”

Clint frowned.  “That’s not --”

Wade cut him off as Steve reached for another cookie.  “Ah ah!  Not so fast, Bucky knows the house rules.”

“What house rules, what are you talking about?”  Bucky looked like he couldn’t decide if he was angry that someone would deny Steve cookies or just confused.

“Kisses.  For.  Cookies,” Wade said as he fed one of the macaroons to Clint, and then ended with a kiss that was much more suitable for public spaces than the one they had shared earlier.  

“You don’t have an excuse now, Buckaroo,” Clint said with a grin.  “That ‘oh, I’ve got nobody to kiss’ line won’t work on us anymore.”

Steve, who had been holding his macaroon and looking between them all as if they were some odd new species he’d never heard of before, crammed the entire cookie in his mouth and chewed furiously.  One epic swallow later he pounced on Bucky.

Wade giggled and clapped, and Clint wrapped an arm around his waist.

Steve grinned.  “This is the best day.  Cookies that won’t kill me plus kisses too?  You should have brought me here on our first date.”

“I kinda did,” Bucky said.

“Liar.”

“I’m hurt you don’t even remember.  You have the nerve to land on top of a poor, wounded vet, I go out of my way to clean you up  _ and _ feed you, and now you claim you don’t even remember?  I’m shocked, Steve.   _ Shocked! _ ”

“Look at how he’s blushing,” Wade whispered to Clint.  “It’s so cute I might vomit!”

“But I didn’t think...that wasn’t...you’re an asshole,” Steve sputtered.

“Yea, but I’m the asshole holding the box of cookies,” Bucky said with a grin.

“You’re lucky I like jerks like you.  If kisses for cookies is a thing, do you know how many cookies you’re going to get now that you’re going to live with me?”

Wait, what?  Clint opened his mouth to ask about that whole ‘living with’ thing when he saw Wade signing at him urgently.

“Don’t make a big deal or he’ll freak out and maybe change his mind,” he signed.  And yea, okay, maybe Wade had a point, but Clint still felt like screaming, in the best possible way.  

He also felt a glare blasted in his direction with almost physical force.  “If he changes his mind I will murder you,” Steve fingerspelled with the hand that was behind Bucky’s back.

“Bucky,” Wade said seriously.  “James  _ Buchanan _ Barnes, I swear on my favorite spatula that if you do not marry this man I will be forced to make a candelabra with your ribcage.”

Bucky looked supremely unimpressed.  “So when are you puttin’ a ring on Clint, then?  I don’t want my supply of bagels drying up any time soon.”

“Okay, I got it, I’ll keep my nose out of your relationship and you’ll stay out of mine.  As long as you keep him, because he’s now my second-favorite person,” Wade said.

“Hey, I thought I was your second-favorite,” Bucky protested.

“Sorry, you’re still pretty great, but I’m pretty sure Steve is magical.  You’ve been downgraded to only third-favorite.”

Clint frowned.  “I’m your first favorite, right?  I mean, I just…”

Wade tugged him close and kissed him on the nose.  “Of course you are, baby, nobody in the world is better than you.”

“Okay then on that note,” Steve said loudly.  “It was nice meeting you two in person, we’ll be back at some other point when you’re not about to strip down naked.”

“Mmmmm,” Clint said, not really paying attention to them, not when Wade’s hands were sliding down his back like that.  Not when his own hands were sliding under Wade’s apron.

“I won’t lie, Stevie, they’ve been like that since Clint realized they were dating.  The resolved sexual tension is almost worse than the unresolved sexual tension was.”

“Lock the door on your way out, Buckarino!”

“Bite me, Wade!”

“Busy biting Clint, sorry!”

Clint looped a finger through the bow on Wade’s apron and led him to the staircase.

Later, they were still naked and cuddled together on the couch (which was definitely one benefit of having made it all the way upstairs this time).

“So.  Steve,” Clint said.  “He’s, like, amazingly good for Bucky.  I seriously can’t believe he’s actually convinced him to come in off the streets.  That’s gotta be high-level witchcraft or something.”

“Maybe his dick is magical.”

“I don’t really want to think about his dick, Wade.  And I’d rather you weren’t thinking about it when mine is right here.  But seriously, we should make something for him too, his own menu special.”

“Baby, I am already on it, I have plans.  He needs a pie, like Bucky’s, but gluten free.  Tiny.  Like, cupcake pies.  I’m thinking apple, because he’s got that blonde haired, blue eyed, all-American boy thing going on, and then topped with salted caramel, because he’s salty as hell.”

Clint laughed.  “I definitely want to be there when you tell him that.  But, like, far enough away to not get caught in the crossfire.”

This turned out to be a good call.  

“We call it the All-American,” Wade said solemnly when he presented it to Steve a few days later.  “We made hand pies for Bucky, and this is for you.  Gluten free, filled with apples.  It means you’re part of the family now.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open a bit, and his eyes went all soft, and he actually was pretty cute, if Clint was being honest.  “Wow, that’s . . . Thank you, guys.”

Wade grinned.  “Taste it!  It’s salty and pocket sized, just like you!”

Steve punched him in the arm, really hard, if the way that Wade said “OW,” and danced around clutching his shoulder and giggling was anything to go by.

For the next week, Wade wore sleeveless shirts and proudly showed off his bruise to everyone, none of whom were actually impressed, mainly because they had no idea who Steve was.

It gave Clint an excuse to kiss Wade’s shoulder every night, so he counted it as a win.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a particularly slow Wednesday, the sort of day that had Clint staring off into the distance and fantasizing about fighting space robots when he was startled out of the epic climactic battle by a cake.  And not one he had baked, either.

It was, he had to admit, an unusually fine specimen of a cake, at least visually.  It was only two tiers, but was decorated with tiny purple violets and delicate white-on-white lacework that looked to be all buttercream, not the hellish devilpaste that was fondant.

"People usually come here to buy cakes, they don't bring their own," he said, not entirely sure what to think.

"Consider this my audition, boss," the short Asian woman standing across from him said.

"I...what?"

"Audition.  I want to work here.  You want to hire me.  This cake is going to convince you to do that."

Clint looked back at the cake, and then back up at the girl who was smirking at him from across the counter.  "I can make cakes.  I make awesome cakes, Ms..."

"Bishop.  Kate Bishop.  And your cakes may be decent for most things, but they're not wedding cakes, and you've got a lot to learn about fancier pastries.  Lucky for you, seven months training at Le Cordon Bleu means that those happen to be my strengths."

"Isn't that the fancy French place?"

"Yep."

"Then why the hell would you want to work here instead of at some five star place making edible foams or some shit," Clint asked.

"Two things.  One, I didn't get to finish the program, and I don't want to fucking talk about it.  My dad’s an asshole, we'll just leave it at that.  Two, you let your partner bake with wasps, I'm pretty sure you'll let me do whatever the fuck I want without screaming at me all the damn time like some sort of flour-dusted Napoleon.  Been there, done that, it’s definitely not my scene.  So this place sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.  Also, edible foams are gross and stupid."

Clint blinked again, not entirely sure this wasn’t just a really weird continuation of his robot dream.  Kate could be an android, it wasn’t totally ridiculous.  "And why would I want to hire you?  Sounds like you don't actually want a boss, you just want a kitchen to use."

"And an established business so I don't have to fuck around with the paperwork.  But yea, you've got the general idea.  And you want to hire me because I'm the best thing to ever happen to you.  I'm going to corner the high-end wedding market, which means money for you, and means you don't have to bake for weddings at all, unless you want to.  Just send all the happy couples to me, I'll provide them with the best damn wedding cakes they've ever seen, and you rake in the cash."

"Uh..."  She kind of made a compelling argument.  The last wedding they had baked for ended in tears.  His, when the bride yanked the top tier off his cake and threw it at him, because he used a shade of azure that she claimed was insufficiently limpid.  Whatever the fuck that meant.  

"So the cake's pretty and all."  Kate rolled her eyes.  "But how do I know you can actually bake?  This business is kind of my life now, I have a reputation to maintain."

_ “Wasps _ ,” she retorted, eyes narrowed.  "Just take a bite, nerd," Kate said as she made her way behind the counter, locating a plate and a knife like she belonged there.  With quick efficiency she cut a small slice and held it up for Clint to taste.  The flavors of lavender and lemon burst over his tongue, and he thought his eyes might have rolled back in his head.

"Gimme," he said as he grabbed the plate from her.

She laughed as she headed back into the kitchen.  "I'm going to need to fix your webpage, too.”

“Whatever, I’m going to try to eat this entire cake, and then I’m going to probably need to spend a couple of hours regretting trying to eat an entire cake, and then I’m going to maybe need you to make Wade his own cake too so he doesn’t get sad.  Wade isn’t allowed to be sad, that’s like the most important rule of working here.”

“Wow.  I don’t even know what to say to that, it’s so sad it’s almost endearing.”

Clint muttered something back at her that might have been an insult, but his mouth was full so it didn’t have much force.  She just flicked him off in return.

Yea, she was going to fit in just fine around here.

“Wade!  Come meet our new cake lady!”

Wade came bounding out of the gluten free kitchen and looked Kate over.  He signed, “What do we need a cake lady for?  We have you.”

“Two reasons.  One, taste this.”  Clint shoved a chunk of cake in Wade’s mouth, and thoroughly enjoyed the look of bliss that came over his face.  “Two, she’ll do weddings, and we won’t have to.”

The worst thing about weddings was the way they made Wade all tense and on guard.  Crowds of strangers contemptuously staring at his scars weren’t his favorite thing to begin with, and the added internal tensions of a wedding made everything worse.  He had come perilously close to stabbing the limpid azure bride, and Clint had come close to letting him.

It had taken hours after they got back home for Clint to get him calmed down and comfortable in his skin again, and the tightness around his eyes had taken days to fade.

Wade picked up another chunk of cake, waved it at Kate and said, “Welcome aboard, cake lady.”

 

* * *

“Oh wait, is this _that_ bakery?” said a dark haired bombshell of a woman in what she might have thought was a whisper to her smaller friend.  “The one with the bees?”

“They were wasps,” said her friend.  “Do not tell Janet.  You know how she gets.”

“You really want to trust your wedding cake to the bug bakery?”

“They are not the -- Thor helped build this place, don’t call them that!” the friend whispered fiercely.

Kate came shooting out from the back and nearly tackled the new customers.  “Did you say wedding cake?”

“Um, yes?  I mean, I’m getting married, and my fiance wanted to get our cake here, so…”

“YES!  I mean, yes, you’ve come to the right place.  I’m Kate, and I make the best damn wedding cakes you’ve ever seen.  Do you have anything specific in mind?  Themes, colors, flavors?  Three tiers?  Fondant decorations, or something your guests can actually eat?”

“Eeep!”  The bride went all wide-eyed, like she was facing down a cave troll.

Her friend rolled her eyes.  “Jane is hopeless at this sort of thing, that’s why I’m here.  Maid of Honor at your service, Darcy Lewis.  I’m thinking three tiers, very simple, but with a cascade of stars spilling out of the top.  And not geometric stars, either.  Jane’s an astrophysicist, I want _galaxies_.”

Kate closed her eyes and tilted her head back, a look of absolute bliss on her face.  “You’re my new favorite.  This is going to be so much fun, I have a million ideas already.  Any thoughts on flavors?  I’m still developing the wedding menu, so if you don’t mind coming back in a couple of days I can put together some samples for you to try.”

“Can they all be chocolate?” Darcy asked.

“They can’t all be chocolate, Thor’s dad hates it,” Jane said.

“Thor’s dad is wrong, and is also not here,” Darcy responded.

“I have a PhD and a mountain of debt, and he’s paying for the entire wedding.  We’re not going to get something he won’t be able to enjoy,” Jane said.

Darcy pouted.  “Why are you pretending to be all mature?  I haven’t forgotten any of the dirt I have on you from undergrad.”

Jane squeaked.  “Don’t you dare!”

“Two words,” Darcy said.  “Swing dancing!”

* * *

 

They came back two days later.  Two very, very long days from Clint’s perspective, as Kate whipped up approximately three hundred different batches of cake, screaming at times as some flavor combinations didn’t work out the way she wanted and screaming more when they did.  He might have “accidentally” misplaced his hearing aids at one point.

Kate presented Jane and Darcy with a plate of cake pops, lined up in pairs down the center of a long platter.  They were airbrushed in different colors, with swirls of magenta and blue over black, sprinkled with dots of white or dashes of edible glitter.  “Now, these were just experiments in matching your theme, it’s not perfect yet, but let me know what parts you like about these if anything.”

They went down the plate sampling the different types of cake.  Vanilla with pastry cream and raspberry, spice cake with apple butter and salted caramel buttercream, coconut cake with passion fruit filling and coconut rum buttercream, almond and cherry, champagne and strawberry, orange blossom with raspberry.

“Now, this is not something I say, like, ever,” Darcy said when they finished, “but I was wrong.  I was so, so, so wrong to badmouth the bug bakery.  This is the most amazing cake I’ve ever eaten and none of it is even chocolate.”

Kate pulled out a box.  “Actually, this is for you.  All different chocolate varieties, all I ask is that you let me know what you think when you try them.”

Darcy actually teared up when she looked inside.  “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.”

In the back, Wade was looking at some of Kate’s rejected cake pops.  “Hey Clint, did you know edible glitter was a thing?”

“No, but it’s giving me all sorts of ideas.”  The mental image of Wade wearing nothing but glitter and maybe an apron was one that Clint really, really wanted to see in real life.

“Mmmm, I like how you think.  We’ll have to get our own though, Kate would probably murder us if we used hers.”  She had threatened several kinds of bodily harm that time Wade had reached for her truffle oil, and Wade hadn’t touched anything on her shelf since then.

That memory would have been enough to change Clint’s mind if it was only food at stake, but with Wade bent over the counter like that and the thought of his skin all streaked with sparkles ... He moved closer and used the straps of Wade’s apron to pull him tight against his chest.  “Might be worth it.”

It was.  Even when they kept finding glitter everywhere for months after, and even when Tony demanded to know what strip club they had started working at.  And Kate didn’t even notice that any glitter had gone missing until they bought her a new jar of it.

Jane and Thor became Kate’s first customers, and when they stopped by the bakery together for the first time they were both glowing with joy. 

Wade came running out when he heard Thor’s voice, and squealed with delight when he saw Jane.  “Jane!  I’ve heard so much about you!  Like, a lot, Thor seriously talks about you _all the time_ , it’s adorable.  But not as adorable as you are, holy shit, you could literally climb him like a tree!”

“Indeed, she has done just that in the past!”

“Thor!”  Jane smacked him in the arm, and he just looked down at her, smiling for all he was worth.

“Get it, Thor!”  Wade was grinning almost as much as Thor was.  “Seriously man, I’m so stupidly happy for you.  You were alone for way too long, I’m glad you two found each other.”

“And I am glad that Jane hit me with her car when she did,” Thor said, still grinning hugely.

“Wait, she hit you with her car?  I’ve got to hear this story,” Clint said as he came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

Jane sighed and put her face in her hands.  “Oh god.  It was an accident, and I barely hit him, the bumper just grazed him.  He didn’t even bruise, he always makes it sound so much worse than it really was.”

“Ah, but if you hadn’t hit me we might never have met, and my life would be much the sadder for it.”  

The look they shared was full of so much that Clint’s chest felt tight.  He cleared his throat.  “So, I hear our Katie-Kate is going to be the one to make your cake?” 

“My friends, I am delighted that Kate will be the one to make the cake for our celebration, but I feel you must be a part of it as well!”

Jane smiled.  “We’re having a reception dinner.  Do you think you two could come up with some kind of pastry for the dessert?”

Wade shot Clint a hopeful look.  “No lutefisk,” Clint signed back.  Lutefisk definitely didn’t sound like the sort of thing you’d want at a celebration.  Not that he had been to many weddings, but he’d seen movies.

Wade tried again after closing that day.  “You know, we have specialties for almost all of our friends now.  Cupcakes for Pepper and Tony and Maria and Natasha, muffins for Bruce and Phil, the hand pies for Bucky, pocket pies for Steve, and with the wedding coming up…”

“No.”  It was pretty damn clear where this was going, and no.  Not even when Wade looked so sad.  “If you want to come up with something special for Thor’s wedding I’m behind you a hundred percent, but not with lutefisk.”

“I just wanted him to have something from home, because now that I know what it’s like to have one, even if I lost it, I’d want to remember it every day.”

Clint couldn’t promise they’d never lose the bakery.  They’d both seen too much shit to think that a promise like that would mean anything.  He couldn’t even promise they’d never lose each other.  They’d both been too close to death before to ever have illusions about that.

“Maybe there’s another way?  Something we can do for him with...different ingredients?”

Wade’s smile was tight, his eyes shadowed, heavy with things he usually didn’t let Clint see.  “Yea, I’ll see what I can come up with.”  His steps were heavy as he trudged upstairs.

Shit, now he felt like even more of an asshole than usual.  Maybe it wouldn’t really be as bad as he was imagining?  The smell from the natto had faded after a day or two, after all.  Maybe he should double-check the recipe, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as he was remembering.

The recipe said to be careful of saponification.  What the fuck?  Clint googled it.

**Saponification is the process of turning fat and lye into soap.**

Soap?  Fucking fish-soap?  No no no.  Not a goddamn chance was this happening.  No lutefisk.  Not ever.  

Sure, he got where Wade was coming from.  Home used to just mean wherever he was sleeping that night, but now it was something else entirely.  Now it was the bakery and losing at video games and kisses for cookies.  It was terrible coffee and a fire pole and friends stopping by at all hours of day or night.  It was knowing that there was someone else there who had your back, always, and that was what Wade needed right now.

No lutefisk, but they could find another way.  Together.

In the meantime, he was going to hobble upstairs and give Wade a blowjob.  That always cheered them both up.

 

* * *

A few days later, for no reason at all, he just couldn’t.  

Not any of it.

He should be up, he should be making muffins and croissants, drinking the coffee Wade brewed for him.  Dealing with yesterday’s receipts and checking up on Kate.  

There was so much he should be doing and it was all too much and he was letting everyone down.  He’d been so stupid to think he could make it work, and now they were all going to see how worthless he really was, how he couldn’t even take care of himself, let alone keep a bakery afloat.  They’d see, and they’d leave, and he’d have nothing left.  Again.

Some corner of him heard the lie in that idea, but fuck it was hard when it was your own mind blasting that bullshit out at top volume.

The bed sagged beside him.  He didn’t look up to see if Wade was talking to him, just kept his head under the pillow.

Wade started kneading the muscles in his shoulders, working out some of the knots of tension, and that was -- “Your hands.  Don’t wear them out.  It’s not ... “

Not worth it.  

Wade’s hands stopped.  

Clint braced himself for the feeling of the bed bouncing up.  For the feeling of Wade leaving him.  For the return of the neverending ache of loneliness.

Instead, there was a soft brush just under his hairline.  And another, a bit lower, with the broken breath of words ghosting his skin in between.  Another, and another.  Wade was kissing his way down Clint’s spine, whispering his reassurances into the silence.

“You don’t have to,” Clint muttered.  Wade didn’t even slow down.  “The bakery, you should go.”  And Wade still didn’t pause.  “You don’t have to.”

The corner of him that knew better told the rest of him that he was resigned to his fate.  That corner of him knew the right word would send Wade back downstairs, but it wrapped the information up tight where it couldn’t hurt him.  

Wade reached the dip at the small of Clint’s back.  He said something a little longer, then started working his way back up again. 

Clint didn’t say a word. 

But they couldn’t afford to close down every time Clint had a shaky morning, especially not on a Saturday.  Eventually, they both went down to the bakery. and if Clint took the stairs instead of sliding down the pole, that was his business.  Wade and Kate did all the real prep work, and Clint just tried not to fuck things up too much.

Unlocking the door an hour early absolutely counted as fucking up.

“Well.  Isn’t this just...quaint.”

The man who walked in looked like money, hair slicked back and a tailored suit that would put one of Tony’s to shame, but unlike Tony he didn’t look happy to be here.  He looked disgusted, with an air of sneering superiority that had Clint on edge before he even opened his mouth.

“Go fetch the owner for me,” the man said, barely sparing Clint a glance as he looked over the menu board disdainfully.  

“That would be me.  Well, I’m one of them, anyway, my partner’s in the gluten free kitchen.  Clint Barton.  Can I help you?”

“Not unless you’re significantly more competent than you appear.  I’m Loki Odinson.”

“Thor’s brother?” Clint said.  It was the only reason he wasn’t telling Loki to fuck off.  Plus he felt like shit and was hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“How astute.  Yes, Thor is my brother.”    

“Well, nice to meet you, but we’re not actually supposed to be open right now.”  

Loki flashed a smile, not at all for Clint’s benefit.   “I couldn’t agree more.  It’s clearly past time that you close your doors and collapse under the weight of your inferiority, while he still has time to find a real bakery.”

“What?”  He could not have heard that right.  It had to be his own stupid brain going off the rails again.

Loki’s smile fell away into a sneer.  “If you want to go around scamming the general public, then have at it.  But this is my brother’s wedding.  I won’t have some backwater buffoon making him look like an idiot.  He doesn’t need the help.”

“I’m not scamming any -- “

“I know your type.  The lowest of the low, mediocre in every way, scraping by on the goodwill of others, until somehow you fell into just enough money to build this place and start bringing your betters down to your level.  No real skills, no real expertise.  You’re passably attractive in that grubby working-class way at least, so I suppose you’d still be good for a bit of rough.”

Clint just stood there, feeling hollowed-out and empty, Loki’s words slicing through him like knives.  The worst part was that it was true, all of it.  He was nothing, garbage, completely worthless.  Wade could do better, they could all do so much better than him.  He was just a washed-up circus freak pretending at being someone good, someone Wade could love.

He was worthless, and he was just going to drag them all down with him.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Loki move at first until he was pressed up tight against him, mouth moving against his.  Clint froze, unable to react or even process what was happening as an eternity passed.  Just as suddenly, Loki was gone and Wade was there.  Wade was there, and looked angrier than Clint had ever seen him, and fuck.  Fuck.  This was it, the moment he lost everything.  People were yelling, _Wade_ was yelling, but it was all just _sound_ , he couldn’t process any of it, it just washed over him, wave after wave of _too fucking much_ , until finally he did the only thing he could do.

He ran.


	6. Chapter 6

He didn’t run far.  Wade and Loki were between him and the front door, Kate was in the kitchen where the back door was, which left just the stairs.  That, and he had managed to do something to his hip in the confusion, wrenching it and leaving him in more pain than he had felt for a while.  He had probably undone all of Natasha’s hard work, so now she’d hate him too.  

And Wade.  _Fuck_ , Wade.  Loki had kissed him and he had just stood there and Wade had seen the whole thing and now he was going to lose Wade.  But Wade couldn’t leave the bakery.  The bakery was Wade’s _home_ , and Clint couldn’t take that away from him too.  Which meant he’d have to leave.  Kate could take over for him, she was a better baker than he’d ever be anyway, and Wade had all the creativity and drive.  They’d be fine without him, totally fine.

He got as far as finding a box.  He was still standing there next to the couch trying to figure out what to put in it when Wade ran in.

“Kate wouldn’t let me shoot that guy, but ... “  

Without even thinking, Clint took a step toward him.  He didn’t get far, as the pain lanced through his hip, and he wasn’t supposed to be going toward Wade anyway.  Fuck.

“You’re limping.  Fuck, you gotta sit down.”

“No.  I have to -- “ He looked down at the box, like it held some kind of answer.  It didn’t.  It was just empty, with the word ‘shit’ scrawled on the side.  That felt oddly appropriate.

“Oh, baby no.”  Wade looked so heartbroken.  As if Clint needed more evidence that he should go.  

“Wade, I’m no good, I should . . . “  God, he couldn’t even bear to say it.

“Sit down and let me get some ice.  Whatever your plan is, it can wait for that, right?”

“Um.” No coherent argument came to mind.  “Okay.”

“Okay.  On the couch.”  Wade took the box away and hooked his arm around Clint’s waist to help him sit.  He rushed off to the kitchen, and Clint could hear him muttering to himself in there, but he couldn’t make out what he’d said.

Ice pack in hand, Wade came rushing back  He sank gracefully to his knees and laid his head on Clint’s lap.  “I can’t make you stay.  But ... You remember what you said when we met Steve?  What you told me I am to you?”

Clint nodded, but Wade couldn’t see it, so he croaked, “Yeah.”

“As long as that’s what I am, then please don’t leave me.  No matter what else is in your head, you’ve got to know that I’m better with you.  I can embroider it on a pillow or something, but for right now just try to believe me.  I’m better with you.  Everything is better with you.“

“You saw.  You saw what happened.  That’s not better, Wade.”

“I saw, and Kate was wrong, I should have shot him.  I will fucking force feed him his own goddamn spleen.  Stab his eyes out with the shattered remains of his own phalanges.  Later.  After you’re okay.”

“What if I’m not?  What if I never am?” Clint said to the ceiling.

“Then I’ll be right here with you.”

He put his hand on Wade’s shoulder, and Wade curled in tight against him.

“I don’t.  I don’t...understand.  Why aren’t you angry with me?  I betrayed you, I kissed him…”

“No.”  Wade sat up and looked at him directly so there could be no misunderstanding.  “No, I saw the whole thing.  You didn’t kiss him.  He _assaulted_ you, it wasn’t anything you chose and it wasn’t at all your fault, none of it.”

“Why do you trust me?  I’m such a fuckup, I’m going to ruin everything.  I’ve done it before, it’s what I always do.”

“You ate chimichangas with me, even though I look like a lumpy naked mole rat.  You went in on a bakery with me, even though I can’t bake for shit.  You let me sleep in the same bed with you, just because I was cold and you wanted to make it better, not because you thought I was an easy fuck.  Which I totally am, by the way, but you just wanted to help me stay warm.  _That’s_ what you always do.  You help everybody you meet.”

Clint didn’t have the energy to argue it anymore, and he hoped that he would lose the inclination.  “Come up here before you hurt your knees.”

“I can stay on my knees a lot longer than that,” Wade said as he climbed up.

“I know.  I just wanted you here.”  He stretched out, pulled Wade against his chest and held him close.  “‘Cause you’re the guy I’m in love with.”

He was pretty sure Wade sniffled when he said, “Thanks.  I’m in love with you, too.”

 

* * *

He didn’t quite fall asleep, but he drifted for a long time, his only focus on keeping Wade secure against him.  It wasn’t until two hours later that he felt like he might be able to function again.

He rubbed Wade’s shoulder.  “We should get downstairs.  Saturday’s too busy for Kate to do by herself.”

“You’re sure?  We can stay here.”

“No, I want ... I want to help.”

Wade grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.  Can you give me a hand up?”

In spite of the ice, there was still some serious pain as Clint made his way across the room.  Wade ducked under his arm and Clint leaned into him gratefully.  

The stairs had a very good banister, thanks to Thor’s foresight, so Clint could make it down mostly on his own.  

“What the hell?”  He had assumed that the noise was from Kate and her radio.  He wasn’t expecting a huge crowd of people lined up out the door.  

He also wasn’t expecting to see Phil running the register.  Or Maria running the fryers.  

“I called Pepper to get some back-up,” Wade said, like that was just a normal thing, or somehow explained the ridiculous line.

Now that he knew to look, he saw Pepper, holding a clipboard and walking down the line taking orders from customers.  She was probably just as terrifyingly efficient about that as she was about everything else.  

From the kitchen, Kate’s voice shouted, “Barnes, check the banana muffins.”

“Yes chef,” Bucky said back, with only a touch of sarcasm.  

“Banner, see if Rogers has anything ready,” Kate shouted.  Not only did she seem to enjoy having troops at her command, but she was clearly good at marshaling them into action.  The line was long, but not because it was moving slowly.

“How come I don’t get to check on Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Because I’m not an idiot,” said Kate.

Bruce opened the door to the GF kitchen, and Steve was in there laughing and mixing up some kind of bread.  Natasha whisked out with a smear of flour on her cheek and a tray of apple tarts in her hands, muttering her thanks to Bruce.  

“Alright, I’ve got two espressos, a cappuccino and a latte macchiato,” called Tony, sauntering in from the back with his hands full of coffee cups.  “Hey, the fabulous baker boys are back!”

Kate dashed out of the kitchen and looked Clint and Wade over.  “If you two are ready to work, I could sure use some real bakers back here.”

“I heard that,” shouted Bucky.  “She’s right, none of us know what we’re doing, and I’m short-handed.”

Clint wasn’t quite ready to laugh, but that did get a smile out of him as they made their way to the back.  

“Yeah, well, we would have been able to keep up, if Tony Fucking Stark hadn’t tweeted about it,” Kate grumbled.  “Now everybody in the borough wants to see him slinging espressos.”

“That’s just the kind of thing that happens when you have charm and good looks and a few billion dollars in the bank,” Tony said loftily.

Clint got out a pair of aprons and looped one around Wade’s neck, using it to pull him in for a quick kiss.  “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Baby, I didn’t do anything.  They’re family.  All I did was let them know we needed them."

He wrapped Wade in his arms and they propped each other up, just enjoying the warm comfort of home.

“Get to work or get out, nerds,” Kate said, slapping him on the ass and grinning.

They got to work.

 

* * *

“WADE!  WADE LOOK!”

Okay, if he’d thought about it, Clint would have waited until Wade was done with his shower, but he’d been googling for a long time, and he’d finally found something he thought Wade would really like.

Besides, Wade came charging out of the bathroom without so much as a towel on, and that was hard to complain about.

“You okay baby?”

“Uh, yeah.  I just wanted to show you these.”  He ducked out of the way of the laptop so Wade could see the picture he’d found.

“Ooookay,” Wade said, leaning down and dripping on Clint’s shoulder.  “Meringues, right?”

Clint frowned a little.  He’d hoped for a lot more excitement.  “Traditional Norwegian meringues.”

“They’re pretty, but . . . Meringue tastes like Elmer’s glue.”

“You know this from experience?”

Wade just shrugged.

“They’re lemon flavored.  And check out all the colors.”  Clint scrolled down through the bright pastel meringues.  Really, they looked perfect for a wedding.

“Yeah.  Those are lots of colors,” Wade said.

Clint sighed, and pulled out the big guns.  “They’re called pikekyss.  It means kisses.”

“I’m totally in favor of kisses,” Wade said, grinning and pulling Clint in for one.  “But no lemon glue.  That’s gross.”

“From the guy who made okra cupcakes.”

“And we sold every single one of those, too,” Wade said with pride.

“Only because Tony bought eleven of them and some fratboy bought the last one on a dare.”

Wade shrugged.  “A sale’s a sale.”

“That is a very mature and entrepreneurial attitude to have, Phil would probably approve.”

“I do long for Phil’s approval.  But this is for a wedding, it has to be really special, not just unique.  It has to be tasty and beautiful and meaningful.  It has to be _perfect_."

“No pressure then.”

Wade grinned.  “I’m going to get dressed, then we can look together.”

Clint was a reasonable adult and did not pout, even though he’d hoped this would lead to taking clothes off, not putting them on.  Since Kate had moved into the kitchen, they hardly ever ended up with their clothes off downstairs.  Fury appreciated that, but Clint sometimes didn’t.  Wade was hard to resist, and Clint didn’t like trying.

They sat on the couch and bumped their knees against each other, each fully clothed and scrolling through search results on their laptops.

He nudged Wade with his shoulder.  “These Sandkakers look kind of fun.”

“Sandkaken.”

“What?”

“Sandkaken, that’s the plural.”  

“How do you even know that?”

“Research, baby.”  Wade looked thoughtful.  “We could do different kinds of fillings.  Sandkaken Surprise!”

“Cloudberries are traditional,” Clint said.  “Either jam or cloudberry cream.”

“Yea,” Wade said, “But something with cayenne pepper would be more fun.”

“We already have mini tart tins we could use,” Clint said warming up to the idea.  “I think we even bought some heart-shaped ones.  I have no idea how we’d manage to source cloudberries, but maybe we could substitute local seasonal berries?”

“Durian creme!”  

“Wade…”

Wade turned his best puppy-dog eyes on Clint.  Again, fuck.  “But Clint, it’s fruit!  You can’t possibly object to fruit!  Fruit _definitely_ belongs in a bakery.”

Clint sighed and ran one hand through his hair.  “Isn’t that the super stinky fruit?  Fine, but only one.  If you can’t make something edible with it then that’s it.  And your experiments happen in our kitchen and not in the bakery kitchen.  On a day we’re closed, so you don’t scare the customers away, ‘cause the smells are half our advertising.  And you have to keep the windows open.”

The smile he got in return was blinding.  Before Wade could scramble off to buy stink fruit, Clint said, “Hey, I just -- I like it.”

“Durian?”

“Probably not.  No, I like that you’re so creative and want to try new things.  I like that you get excited and ... You’re a good baker.  I’m really glad you’re my partner, there’s nobody else I would want with me on this.  I just thought you should know.”

This smile was even better than the last one, all soft and warm, and Wade set aside both laptops and kissed him for all he was worth.  Holy fuck, he was good at that, and it was over way too soon, so Clint added, “And you’re really smart and funny and mmph.”

Which meant that it did end with taking clothes off after all.  Score another billion for Barton.

 

* * *

Something slid across the back of the van as they unloaded their supplies for Thor’s rehearsal dinner, catching Clint’s eye.  When he picked it up he wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or cry.

“Wade, we talked about this.”

“Yes we did,” Wade said, “but I deserve to have a little fun.”

“No lutefisk in the bakery,” Clint whined.  “We came up with something awesome for Thor without it!”

“And this,” Wade said as he snatched it out of Clint’s hand, “is not going anywhere near the bakery.”

“So what’s it for?  I don’t really want it in our apartment either.”

Wade shook his head.  “Nope, that’s too close to the bakery, I’m obeying the letter of the law as well as the spirit for once.  This is something extra special, for someone who couldn’t possibly deserve it more.”

“I don’t think there’s anybody I dislike quite that much,” Clint said dryly.

“You sure about that?  Because if I’m not mistaken that shiny, shiny car over there belongs to someone we know far better than we’d like to, and I think it needs a little bit of detailing.  You know, for ambiance.”

“Ambiance.”

“I’m thinking some underneath the seat where he’ll never find it, the rest shoved into the vents.”  Wade pulled a small toolkit out of his pocket.

“Are those lockpicks?  Are you actually going to break into that car?  How did I not know you knew how to break into cars?”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.  Who does it even belong to?”

Wade smiled, an uncommonly wolfish expression.  “Loki.”

 

* * *

“These are delicious,” Thor said as he bit into one of the Sandkaker.  The maple bacon and cayenne chocolate mousse were Wade’s contribution, while Clint had made huckleberry cream and boysenberry jam.  And no goddamn durian, that had been disgusting.  “I haven’t had huckleberries since I was a boy in Portland!”

Wait, what?  “There’s a Portland in Norway?”  Clint whispered to Wade.

“I don’t think so, but there’s one in Oregon.”

“Are there even huckleberries in Norway?”  

“That is an excellent question, my friends!”  That was Thor.  Shit, he forgot to whisper.  Volume control was still sometimes a challenge, especially when his aids went wonky on him.

“But...don’t you know?” Clint asked, getting more and more confused.

“Indeed not,” said Thor.  “While I have longed to travel, I have not yet had the opportunity to leave the US, although Jane has promised to bring me with her to her scientific conferences.”

“Soooo...you’re not from Norway, then?”  Wade looked completely baffled.  “But you told me when we first met that you missed the majestic forests of your homeland!”

“Yes, the Pacific Northwest has many great and glorious forests!”

“So you’re telling me that we spent all that time researching Scandinavian pastries for nothing?”

“You can’t call this nothing,” Thor said as he gestured expansively around the room.  “Look how delighted everyone is!  Your flavors are unique, and the variety assures something to appeal to everybody.  Truly, this is better than I could have imagined.”  He clapped one heavy hand onto Clint’s shoulder.  “I am honored to have you both in my life, I couldn’t wish for better friends.”

“Awwww, come here you giant hipster lumberjack,” Wade yelled, jumping up and hugging them both, somehow managing to get his legs up around them too.  It was a damn good thing Thor was strong enough to support him, or Clint’s hip might have landed them all in a pile on the floor.

“Are we doing group hugs now?  I want in too!”  Suddenly, Clint found himself with an arm full of Darcy, dragging Kate and Jane along behind her.

“Dammit Darcy, how do you not have a hangover,” Kate mumbled into Clint’s shoulder.  “I think you drank three pitchers of margaritas all by yourself last night.”

“Cast-iron liver,” Darcy said smugly.  “I told you we’d have fun.”

“Yea, but I still have a cake to finish decorating.  You know, for the wedding?  Jane’s wedding?”

“You could have skipped the bachelorette party if you wanted to be boring,” Darcy said dismissively.

Clint couldn’t help it, he started laughing, ignoring Kate’s quiet groan and grabbing on tighter to this new family he had somehow lucked into.

 

* * *

“What are you doing?”  

At 2AM there was no good answer for that question, and Clint kinda felt like an asshole for asking.  

Wade just shrugged.  “Drawing.”

Clint sat down and idly ran his hand over Wade’s back.  He looked over what he had drawn so far.  “Is that Pepper?”

The long red hair gave it away.  She had one arm around someone with curly brown hair, and the other around a small tiger.

“Yeah.  And Bruce and Tony.”  Oh.  Not a tiger.  Probably.

“Bad night?”  Clint didn’t know why he’d even bothered to ask.

“Bad dream,” Wade said, shoulders tight.  “Didn’t start out so bad.  We were attacked by these cowboy ninjas who were pissed that we didn’t sell baked bean daifuku.  One of them had spurs, it was pretty sweet.  But then you got hurt.”  Wade shrugged again.  “Sometimes this helps.”  

He handed over a stack of papers.  A one armed stick figure with a ridiculously tiny yellow haired figure beside it.  A huge stick figure with a hammer in one hand and a tiny brunette figure standing on the other.  A red haired figure with a wicked grin.  A mostly hairless figure with dollar signs all around, next to a figure with short hair and shark teeth. 

The last sheet of paper was almost covered.  A yellow haired dinosaur eating a lobster.  Holding a bow.  Pulling a tray of cupcakes out of an oven.

“Are these all me?”

Wade almost smiled.  “Yeah.  I ran out of room.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed at that, but fuck, even at his lowest Wade was just so damned lovable.  Clint pulled over a fresh sheet of paper and started to draw.  Two stick figures, surrounded by hearts and cookies, one of them giving the other a kiss.  When he finished, he handed it over.

Wade gave a tiny smile and wrote along the bottom, ‘Better with you.’

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete, and we'll be updating weekly. Huge thanks to our amazing betas, [Kalibear](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalibear/pseuds/Kalibear) and [Bibiliojess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bibiliojess/pseuds/bibiliojess)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Banner's Bees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643402) by [rayskeptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayskeptic/pseuds/rayskeptic)




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